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julesnjd · 4 years ago

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rēˈbərth -- Mason

Aurora, Stella, and Mason left the Conway University area around eight in the morning with the following in the trunk of Stella’s Chevy Chevelle: ten deer bones sitting in a bag of water, a large Taco Bell cup taped shut and full of blood from a pregnant dog, one plastic tupperware container of freshwater pearl oysters, a bottle of red wine, and a bottle of olive oil, three plastic bags full of herb sprigs they’d tied last night, and various sizes of metal bowls and multiple different kinds of knives. It was like they were going to record the weirdest outdoor cooking video ever. Aurora Yamamoto, a Japanese trickster demon with an air of casual indifference sat in the passenger seat. Stella, a vampire, drove while tapping her toes against the gas pedal in time with the classic rock blaring from the radio. Mason, the witch, hid herself in a hoodie in the backseat like she didn’t want to be there despite this whole thing being her idea.

Two weeks ago, Juliet Hill, Mason’s roommate-slash-almost-girlfriend and everyone’s friend, was found face up in the lake on their college campus. It had been ruled a suicide. Her death had left Mason a mess. She’d gone so deep into her grief that she could hardly even say Juliet’s name. It still took a second to get it out from between her teeth.

Mason had sprayed the hoodie, the one Juliet loved most of all her clothes that represented some numetal band she loved, with some of Juliet’s lavender perfume before they left Stella’s apartment. It smelled like her. She couldn’t stop holding the sleeves against her nose. There were still a few blonde hairs strewn around on the hoodie that Mason couldn’t bring herself to remove either. She was also wearing the Saint Monica College sweatpants Juliet always stole from her. Both of these things would go on Juliet’s body as soon as she was back with them. If she was back with them.

She hoped to have Juliet back by dawn.

A week ago, Mason had been visited in a dream by her patron goddess, Bast. She could still hear Bast’s voice in her mind when she thought about it: “This is an imbalance, my child. I will lead you to right it.” It hadn’t been the first time Mason thought that Juliet didn’t deserve to die. She’d been thinking it from the moment it happened. Juliet was too young. She was in the middle of her redemption arc, for lack of a better term. She was turning into a better person. Of course, those had been Juliet’s own words, but it still applied. She hadn’t wanted to die anymore. She’d gone through eighteen years of being the unwanted trouble child, of ruining relationships, of suicidal thoughts, of doing other things that she had only alluded to Mason about yet, but had finally made it to a good place in her life. Of course, that was when he took her.

So Mason was going to bring her back. Well, Stella and Aurora were helping, and so was some human they hadn’t found yet. She didn’t understand why Juliet couldn’t just be friends with a human for once, still. Maybe it had something to do with the repressed siren magic that had to be in her blood, since her twin was a siren. Mason blinked and stared at the back of the car seat in front of her. What if that complicated things? What if they needed siren blood, not human blood? The spell wasn’t for a siren. What if this didn’t work because of that?

“Turn left.” The GPS voice snapped Mason back into the present. Stella and Aurora were talking back and forth in the front seat. Their voices melded with the radio commercials in Mason’s ears as soon as her eyes landed on the clay dolls in her lap. She was keeping them as close to her person as possible to continue the flow of life into the dolls. One represented Juliet. The other represented Mason. If-- After Juliet took her first breath, Mason would have to tie the dolls together and burn them in order to bind their souls. It was the only way to keep Juliet on Earth, an aspect Aurora had advised her was missing from the spell.

Mason had made the dolls by hand. They’d taken over an hour to make. She’d mixed the clay in a pot in Stella’s cheap apartment kitchen, transferred the clay to two mixing bowls, and formed each doll while thinking about the person they would represent. Juliet’s doll had hairs picked off the same sweatshirt Mason was wearing massaged into it, but otherwise it hardly represented Juliet. It was necessary for Mason to think about Juliet while forming the doll. She hadn’t given her this much thought since two weeks ago when Juliet died.

She really missed her. She missed the goofy, toothy grin Juliet would give her when she almost got caught doing something she shouldn’t be. She missed Juliet’s lavender and honey perfumes, or the scent of the green apple shampoo and conditioner Jules used in her tangled mess of curly hair. She missed trying to figure out the best way to describe the color of Juliet’s eyes. The closest she’d come was seafoam, but even that wasn’t right. They were more blue than green. She missed trying to count the freckles on Juliet’s cheeks (106 was the highest she’d gotten) while Jules rambled about something Mason didn’t know much about, like her art classes or things she’d learned in her psychology classes. She missed the tone of her voice when she was talking like that. Her ridiculous laugh that Mason had to coax out of her on the first day they met. Juliet’s hand in hers, even if their palms grew sweaty while they walked together. Juliet’s snoring and sleep talking waking Mason up at night, turned into sleepwalking the night before an exam. Singing in the car together. Everything, every moment Mason had with Juliet was flashing through her mind like she was reliving the last moments of her own life… Which she very well could have been. Nothing felt right without Juliet there too.

She looked down at the formed and dried doll in her hand, trying to hold back her tears. It was lumpy and brown, and to make it even worse it hardly even looked like a person. Her own wasn’t much better off, with her own saliva mixed into it. It looked even less like a person than Juliet’s.

They arrived in Traverse City, a tourist city on the edge of Lake Michigan, about two hours after leaving. The entire drive had seen them surrounded by trees, water, and other cars along the highway. Traverse City was Juliet’s hometown. As soon as they hit downtown, it made sense. Stella’s car coasted through the streets downtown, passing local shops, restaurants, and glimpses of the lake. People lined the sidewalks, excited to take in the summer day, some of them dressed in swimsuits and sheer cover-ups, others a bit more modest. It was easy to picture Juliet wandering these streets with her sister or friends, laughing loud, excusing herself when she inevitably bumped into someone while walking backwards. Hopefully, she’d be able to take Mason shopping there soon. Mason tried going over the Greek for the spell incantations in her head. Fuck if she knew what it meant. Aurora had translated it for her, but she could barely remember. Something about giving Juliet’s soul back.

They stopped at the rundown motel they’d booked and set everything they could need up in the room. They had lunch at a place Juliet had talked about multiple times before, where Mason ordered Juliet’s favorite burger. They went to visit her gravesite afterward.

The walk along the path from the parking spaces of the graveyard was hard. Last time Mason had been here was the funeral, where Juliet’s mother complained about how sad she was having lost her daughter all while smiling and chatting on the phone, even during the eulogy. It had disgusted even Rosaline, Juliet’s twin and their mother’s perfect daughter, to the point of shouting. Juliet would have both hated it and loved it.

The day was comfortably hot in a hoodie and sweats, which was the average of a day in late April. Mason walked alone right now, having left the others at the car after asking for some alone time with Juliet. It would help her feel closer.

When she arrived at the grave, Mason sat on the grass in front of the stone. It was already showing signs of wear. There were new flowers set in front of it, on the grass. They’d been knocked over. White roses were scattered sideways, looking just a little trampled, and the vase they’d been in was pink and black. Rosaline probably left them. They were Jules’ favorite flower and the vase was Rosa and Juliet’s favorite colors. Mason picked them up as carefully as she could, swearing softly when thorns on the first two stung her. Once the vase was upright again and all six flowers were looking better, she traced Juliet’s name with her pinky fingertip.

“You’ll be okay,” Mason whispered. “We’re going to make sure of that. I already told Mama that Stella’s coming home with me after a couple more days around Conway. She’s excited to see Stell, since they used to be friends too. Apparently they went to college together, back when Stella was in college for the first time. That’s something I’ve got to tell you about. It was weird seeing them all buddy-buddy at the funeral.” She laughed weakly. “I think Mama’ll be excited to see you. And she’ll definitely take you in. There’s no way she wouldn’t, especially after how your mom acted at your funeral. You won’t ever have to see your mom again. We’ll take care of you. My family’ll just get even bigger.” She tapped the headstone with splayed fingers. “I can’t wait to see you again, see you breathing and shit. Even if it’s weird. Even if you’re weird. I can’t tell you how many laws I’m breaking to get you here, Julesy. Supernatural and human laws. We’re getting you back tonight. No matter what. I’ll have my best friend back. We can bring more new flowers here tomorrow, too. And get you some to have for yourself.

“I’m doing the right thing by bringing you back, though, right? Stella and Aurora seem to think I’m fucked in the head. They’re indulging me and miss you, so they’re helping, but it feels weird. It feels like they’re-- They already said they’re prepping for the worst. They said they talked about how they’d take care of it if you came back wrong in some way. I didn’t even know that was a possibility. I thought you either came back or you didn’t.” She rubbed her hands together, then started plucking lightly at the tips of the grass, snapping them off with her fingernails. “I just… I wish I knew where you are. Are you in Heaven or Hell? Do those places even exist? What makes one better or worse than the other? I wish I knew so I could know if I need to help you or if I could leave you alone and you’d be happy. I feel like everything’s a fucking wish without you though. I miss you. I want you back.” She sighed weakly, staring at the gravestone and rubbing a blade of grass between her fingers. “I’m so selfish.”

Mason rubbed the headstone one more time for good luck. As she approached the lot, she caught a glimpse of someone standing in the distance, leaning against the car. He was at the car. He killed Juliet. He was going to hurt Stella and Aurora. “Hey!” Mason shouted, starting toward the car. “Get the fuck away from them!”

Andrew Roberts was standing by the car, looking at Mason like she was some bird waddling toward them instead of a powerful witch running at the guy who killed her best friend. She shoved hard at his chest, taking him to the ground and slamming her foot down on his chest hard enough to make him cough. “What the fuck is your issue?” she snapped. “I told you I didn’t need your help. I told you to fuck off. You caused this.”

The last time Mason saw Andrew, he was handing her sheets of paper he’d ripped from a book in the Conway library restricted section. He had threatened to turn her in for attempting an illegal spell if she turned him in for killing Juliet. It was the moment she’d realized Juliet was more important than getting legal justice. Mason could turn him in later, after she had Juliet back. She didn’t want him anywhere near them right now, though. He was the one who killed her for some demon named Kalos. For all she knew, he was going to fuck up their spell so Juliet was required to stay wherever she was.

“Mason!” Aurora hissed, shoes slapping the pavement of the sidewalk as she hopped off the trunk of the car. “Leave him alone. He’s helping us. Andrew, tell her.”

“Like fuck he is! We don’t need him.”

“We do!” Aurora shouted. Her voice was shrill and loud now. “Shut up and listen for once in your life!”

Mason shut up, glaring at Andrew as hard as she could. She wished she could rip his head off already. With her bare hands. They were in a cemetery. It’d be easy to bury him.

Andrew spoke, his voice quiet and trembling. He sat up now that Mason’s foot was off his chest, rubbing at his arms and pushing his long, greasy dark hair off his face. “I didn’t want to kill her. Kalos was going to kill me if I didn’t, though.” He got to his feet, carefully keeping his eyes away from everyone else’s. “I left the watcher he has on me and Aurora is keeping me hidden. I want to help. You need human blood, they just told me. I want to give it. I can spot him easier, too. And I-- She wasn’t a bad person. She doesn’t deserve his f-”

“We need him,” Aurora explained, interrupting him. “He’s the only human we have who’s willing to give the spell blood. We need him. I don’t care what vengeance you have against him right now. Isn’t bringing Juliet back a thousand times more important to you than this?”

Mason’s fingers curled into fists. Her nails dug into her palm hard enough to sting. “A million times more. This piece of shit doesn’t matter to me at all.” She looked away from him, lips pursed. “I don’t want him anywhere near any of the stuff we have prepped. He waits in the car while we get the body tonight. I don’t want him alone unless he’s in the bathroom, and even that’s got a time limit. Got it?” She looked at him. “Got it?”

Andrew nodded and Mason got in the car without another word. He sat in the backseat on the passenger side. Mason glared at him briefly, then settled for looking out the window instead. Hopefully they’d need enough human blood to bleed him out. She really hoped so.

☥☥

The night air was cool and crisp, as it usually was during the summer. It smelled like soil and decay in the cemetery. The moon was full. Mason’s power felt strong, which was astounding for the night. It was necessary. She was invoking every deity she could tonight. She was bringing life back into a corpse tonight.

Mason stopped to scratch at her neck. Mosquitoes were rampant right now, and the dirt flying up as she dug toward the casket was not helping the itch. She swore softly and kept digging. Her hands hurt at this point. The shovel they’d brought was not meant to be used for so long.

Aurora had already started her illusion. Apparently it seemed to others that they were doing a prayer circle around the grave or having a picnic, an activity that screamed "leave us alone.” Stella brought out the pry bar and sledgehammer from her trunk once Mason hit the concrete burial vault.

Everything was real. They were going to rob Juliet from her grave. Mason got out of the

grave with Stella’s help.

Mason leaned against the car, trying to ignore the pain in her hands as she watched Aurora and Stella use the sledgehammer to break the liner open, then wedge the pry bar between the nailed edges of the coffin. She held her palms out flat, facing the stars, and breathed out slowly. She started praying softly to Bast, asking her to make sure this pain didn’t cause an issue in the spell she was meant to complete. She didn’t know what else to do right now. It was pain from digging combined with pain from the thorn pricks earlier. She hadn’t told anyone yet, but the thorns had apparently embedded in her skin. They’d broken off from the roses and were painful as hell, but Mason had to work around them. Massaging them out from her skin earlier had proven a difficult but fruitful task, albeit one that left behind red marks and a dull ache spreading from her fingers to her palms.

Now that doubt was planted in her mind again. She’d doubted this entire thing two days ago, when Aurora revealed to her that she’d seen a resurrection only once before and no one had come out alive. There was a risk that Juliet wouldn’t come back normal no matter what, demon thorns involved or not. It wasn’t like resurrection spells were listed in a book of 10 Things Every Witch Should Know! or anything. They were illegal as hell and involved some illegal things, both human and supernatural. It went against everything Mason was for, yet here she was, doing this.

Juliet’s death had really fucked with her head, huh?

It took them a minute, but soon enough Mason heard a loud, “Holy fuck, that reeks!” from Stella, followed by Aurora’s high pitched giggling.

Things were going to be alright. They had to be.

She wandered away from the car after they lifted Juliet’s body out of the hole wrapped in a sheet. They needed to be careful with her and keep her as still as possible. They didn’t want to risk hurting her too much. It wasn’t like Mason couldn’t heal whatever broken limbs or whatever happened, but it wouldn’t work on a dead body. She’d have to bring Juliet back, bind their souls, then use her remaining energy to heal whatever happened to her. It wouldn’t be pretty. That much energy, actually, could kill Mason, and that would ruin the whole plan. It was beyond risky.

Andrew got out of the car to open the trunk when Stella and Aurora gathered up the ends of the sheet Juliet was wrapped in and lifted her. They settled her in the trunk and Aurora and Stella drove her back to the motel alone, leaving Andrew and Mason to fill the grave and replace the sod.

While they were gone, Andrew filled the grave again for Mason. She couldn’t move her hands very well. He’d definitely noticed her stiffness, because he immediately started on it without question. She watched him quietly at first, then sighed and sat down on the edge of the grave. Her feet dangled just a little down toward the cracked concrete burial vault and coffin. He glanced up at her for a second as he pushed greasy hair out of his eyes, then looked back at the dirt he was pushing into the empty grave. Mason watched him for a minute, then sighed. Silence was awkward. “Why would you kill all those people? If I were you, I’d’ve killed myself before killing them.”

Andrew stared at her for a second. The shovel in his hand was steady as he stared, then he nodded once. “I want to stay alive,” he admitted. “It’s a better life than the one I was living before.”

Mason stared at him. “I’d rather be dead than know I’m putting someone through this pain.”

“The only people close to me who’ve died deserved it.” Andrew shoved some more dirt into the hole, then stuck the tip of the shovel into the grass. He looked up to meet her eyes. His gaze was always so emotionless. “I didn’t know Juliet was so close to all of you until it was too late. This is the first time I’m dealing with this.”

“Does it make you want to stop?”

Andrew was silent.

Maybe it was just something Mason would never be able to understand.

Mason stared at the dirt as he tossed it into the grave. It made her think of Juliet’s funeral, when her dad had tossed the first handful of dirt into the grave after the vault containing the coffin was lowered. It was tradition. Death was a weird process for the living. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again to say, “I don’t know if I should be bringing her back.”

Andrew stopped transferring dirt for a minute, then sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you. The spell I gave you takes her out of a spell I completed for Kalos.” He met Mason’s eyes. His didn’t waver as he spoke. “She’s not in a good place. She needs saved.”

Mason stared right back at him, then sucked in a shaking, crisp breath once she remembered to. “Really?”

He nodded once, then went right back to placing dirt without a single word.

For some reason, Mason started thinking about how, a couple months ago Juliet had told Mason something that someone in her psychology course had told her about people lying. “Liars look into your eyes dead on when lying because society told them shifty eyes are a sign of a liar. Eyes shift around when you’re telling the truth.”

“Help me with the sod.”

☥☥☥

On their way into the motel room, Mason watched Andrew squash a pearly white maggot into the fibres of the carpet. It had probably fallen from Juliet’s body. Was she full of maggots? Mason really didn’t want to picture that. She didn’t even want to picture Juliet’s corpse at all.

Luckily, she didn’t have to. The sight was right in front of her when she followed Stella and Aurora into the bathroom, Andrew trailing between them. He stared at the body, then looked at Mason, who was slowly losing her composure. Juliet’s body was right in front of her, in a bathtub, looking worse than she’d ever even considered it could look.

Mason hadn’t expected her to look so dead. Her skin was starting to turn yellow, and there were bugs crawling across her face. Whatever makeup the mortician had put on her was caked into her face and dried out, making her lips a weird bright matte red and her eyelids a greenish-black. The dress she was buried in was covered in dirt, but had held up pretty well. It was a shame she couldn’t be wearing it. Her legs looked normal, and so did everything else. She just looked like she was sleeping in a weird position with makeup on and… Mason exhaled slowly, trying not to breathe in the stench. It was awful, like Mason’s bedroom that time she’d hidden weeks of uneaten food from her mama, but somehow worse.

“Andrew, get out,” she said quietly.

He obliged, standing within view of the bathroom door so Mason could keep an eye on him. It was a wonder how good of a sport he was being about this. It made her feel even more uneasy about believing what he’d told her at the grave.

Mason licked her lips, then looked at Stella and Aurora. “Who’s doing this? She needs to be as clean as possible.”

“Stell, you’re the one with the undead expertise,” Aurora said happily, smacking her on the shoulder.

Stella scoffed. “Maybe Mason should! She’s the one who has to spend all this time with Juliet. Plus it feels weird, I’m almost seventy and Juliet’s only, like, a couple months into eighteen. Gross. Plus Mason’s seen her like this before.”

Mason looked at Stella. “Do you want me to throw up? I can’t do it anyway, I have to be as pure as possible. Touching her would be like dying or something. It’s weird.”

Stella groaned and then sank to her knees by the tub. “Fine.”

Mason did hang out in the bathroom, though, watching Stella carefully run her hands over Juliet’s skin after using scissors to cut into the dress. Stella was doing it all with care. She rubbed water gently over Juliet’s stomach, cleaning out the autopsy scar along her chest and between her ribs. She tried to run her hands through Juliet’s hair, but the second Mason saw a clump of curls break out into Stella’s hands, she stopped her. Stella cleaned under Juliet’s fingernails gently with a dollar store toothbrush.

Mason watched her, having moved closer at this point. She stared at the dirt coming out from under the nails into the toothbrush. The dull ache in her own hands increased every time she thought about it. She could deal with the pain. It didn't matter.

Her eyes lifted up to Juliet’s face. The makeup was running down it now. Stella couldn’t rub hard enough to take it off without risking harm. What mattered was Juliet, and this wasn't going to slow her down. Nothing could slow her down now.

Andrew and Stella moved Juliet’s body back into the center of the room. While Stella cleaned Juliet’s body with Mason’s supervision, Andrew and Aurora had pushed the bed into the corner and stacked the nightstand and whatever else they could on top of it to get as much room as possible. It was a mess, and the carpet would definitely be stained, but they could hide it with the bed again. It would work out. Everything would work out.

Stella climbed up on the bed carefully to take down the smoke alarm. She knocked the batteries out of it and dropped it into the drawer of the nightstand to keep it safe. Andrew locked the door and tugged the curtains closed. Mason took out all of the sheets of paper they’d copied, scrawled all over, and drawn on. They had every single note she needed, the timing for everything. Aurora set the fire pit on the floor not too far from Mason or Juliet’s body, filled it with fire wood, and lit it.

The fire sparked to life. Mason shivered.

It was time.

Eyes closed, Mason took a deep breath, then reached forward to cut the stitches holding Juliet’s lips closed as carefully as she could with a small paring knife. Juliet’s lips parted gradually, her jaw falling slack without the pressure of the stitching keeping it tight. She followed that with the same action on the stitches holding her eyelids closed. Her eyelids fell open, exposing pink muscle, ruptured seafoam blue, and gray-white. Her eyeballs were sunken, deflated sacs of some kind of liquid. Mason’s grip on the knife handle tightened. She pried Juliet’s lips apart gently, making sure her mouth hung open wide.

After that came the hard part. Mason gestured for Stella to come close. Stella helped her break up the deer bones, using her vampire strength to snap them. They scraped out as much bone marrow as possible into one of the metal bowls they’d brought. It was hard not to think about how weird it looked. It was like a weird pink hummus. It smelled awful, though. She followed that with a generous pour of the dog blood. She then mixed the two slowly with her fingers, thinking of Juliet. She had to bring her back. This was to bring her back. Juliet’s soul mattered most of anyone’s. She finished mixing the two and reached into the container Stella had opened for her to grab an oyster. She smacked it hard on the floor, then pried open the crack she’d made with her knife. She sliced into the meat of the oyster. She cut the meat up further into pieces as small as she could, then scooped it into the mixture. The pearl fell last. Mason plucked it out and set it gently in the dip of Juliet’s collarbone. She pressed the mixture together with her fingers.

Once she was done with that, she scooped a gentle handful out of the bowl and whispered to herself as she gently smeared some of the mixture along Juliet’s sternum, between her bare breasts, between her ribs, to her navel, along the stitching of her autopsy cut. Her finger bumped along the uneven stitching as she whispered her prayer. Prayers went to Anubis, to Osiris, to Ra, to Bast, to Iris, to Zeus, to Hades, Enki, Nergal, and in general anyone who would help them purely, to bring them life, rebirth, rejuvenation, revival, resuscitation, resurrection, life, life, life. It was all Mason focused on. What she told the others to focus on.

The energy of the room amped up gradually with every prayer. Mason’s fingers glided over Juliet’s limbs with the mixture. She followed the covering of Juliet’s body with her own, smearing the paste down her forehead, along her nose, over her lips, and down to her heart. She was in one of Juliet’s bras and a pair of her sweatpants. Mason placed her entire hand into the mixture, then placed her bloody palm on her ribs over her heart as she sent out the last prayer, a repeat to Bast, begging her to give her the energy necessary to restore life.

Next came the offerings. While Mason was busy with her prayer and the mixture, Aurora poured generous amounts of wine and olive oil into cups and handed them around to everyone. Mason received hers last. She took the plastic cup in her hands, one wrapped around the curve of the cup, the other covering the opening. She was quiet for a breath before she turned the cup to the side and slowly let the mixture pour out onto the carpet of the motel. Her eyes remained closed. When the cup became weightless in her hand, she opened her eyes. There was no stain. There was no stain in front of any of them. She reached up to her ears and removed her authentic gold earrings, holding them in her palms, a piece of lavender infused chocolate between them. She stayed with them extended, palms flat, until the chocolate had melted into her palms. When she opened her eyes again, the contents of her palms were gone.

Mason stood when she was done with that. She moved to the fire, burning larger in the metal pit now. She picked up the Snoopy, holding it gently in her hands. She pressed her lips to its forehead. When she pulled away, there was a bloody lip mark on the white fur. It pained her to do this. It really did. She held the plush toy over the flames. “Juliet has kept this safe since birth. She has slept with it every night for the past eighteen years. I offer this to you, gods, as a sacrifice. Her most precious possession, for your taking.” She lowered it into the flames, setting it gently on the pile of wood. “She’s going to kill me for doing this.” She smiled slightly as she said it. She leaned over the fire and inhaled the smoke produced from burning the fabric, then breathed it out as she spoke the sacrificial incantation. Her eyes lingered briefly on Andrew, who was standing near the door, entranced as he watched the events of the spell unfold. She made herself look away from him. She couldn’t afford malice.

She turned away and grabbed a clean knife. This one was larger than the paring knife. This one was for the living.

Mason started with Stella. She held her hand out to take Stella’s. Her fingers wrapped around Stella’s wrist to hold her in place, her hand straight, palm angled down over Juliet’s gaping mouth. Mason sliced into the flesh of Stella’s palm slowly and methodically. She curled Stella’s fingers in, ignoring the pained hisses, and squeezed her hand as tightly together as she could. Blood poured out from her palm into Juliet’s mouth, onto her teeth, onto her tongue. Once she had enough, Mason let go of Stella’s hand and helped her stand. She gestured for Andrew to step forward.

Mason would be lying if she said she didn’t get some satisfaction from the ritualistic slicing into Andrew’s palm. She pushed the knife as deep as she could, slower than she had for Stella. She pushed it, tearing through his skin, his fat, his muscle, until she hit bone. He didn’t make a single sound. She curled his hand in the way she had Stella’s, holding it over Juliet’s mouth. His blood came out much faster, as he was human and his wound was deeper. She moved his wrist slowly, dragging it up to drip just slightly into Juliet’s eye sockets, then down to pour into her autopsy cut. When she was done, she helped him stand.

Now for herself. She stopped to take a breath to steel herself, then dug the blade into her palm. It sliced easily into her skin, past her own fat and muscle. She could feel the tearing. She let her blood pour into Juliet’s mouth, mixing with the human blood and vampire blood. She followed this by placing small sprigs of sage, ivy, and aloe vertically over her mouth and horizontally over her ribs. When she was done, she turned her hand so her palm hovered over Juliet’s mouth. She spoke.

“O theoí iketévoume gia ti voítheiá sas to éleós sou kai tous epaínous sou. Epistrofí psychís sto sóma kai to aíma…”

O gods we beg for your aid, your mercy and your praise. Return soul to body and blood. With life let this cavity flood.

The more Mason spoke, the more exhaustion threatened. Despite this, she could feel the energy taking over the room. The air rippled like sound waves. Her fingers prickled like they were asleep. The fire burned brighter. Mason wasn't sure if it was herself, the gods, or something else. The fire began to burn at a higher speed, crackling loud and increasing in size by the second.

Then it was gone. All that remained were crumbling white clumps of ashed out wood.

The fire grew out of control, not widening but spreading upwards, almost touching the ceiling. The windows clattered. The ground shook like there was a low-intensity earthquake happening right there in their room.

The stuff of horror movies.

This wasn't a horror movie, though.

This was going to bring Juliet back.

Mason was more sure of that than she ever had been.

She cradled Juliet's face in her palms, pulling her closer as the cheap coffee maker crashed to the floor. The glass decanter shattered. The lamp threatened to do the same, but it stayed on the dresser. The painting above the beds swung wildly on one wire, connected to the ceiling by a flimsy nail that threatened to fall out with the movement.

Mason wasn't focused on any of it at all. She was looking at Juliet. Her Juliet. The girl she loved. The one who took Mason out of her shell, brought light and life out of her. Brought life out of everyone. The one Mason felt like she'd known all her life, who deserved a life. This was an imbalance.

She was righting a wrong. That counted. She was doing it. She could feel it. She could. She felt like she was going to pass out. The pain in her palm spread to her chest. She couldn’t…

She took a deep breath, focusing on Juliet's face, ignoring everything else. One hand on her chest, over her heart. The other on her cheek. Fighting to keep chanting, the words known to heart already.

She was going to wake up. She was going to be okay. She could feel her energy.

And Aurora's energy. She hadn't realized she'd been chanting with her for the past couple minutes, reading from the pages.

She could almost see it already, Juliet’s eyes opening. Those blue eyes. Those lips turning up in a smile, dimpling in the corners. She needed to see that smile.

"Come on, Juliet. Wake up," Mason paused her chanting to whisper desperately. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep going, but she would. Until she passed out. Until.... whatever happened. She wasn't stopping. "Wake up!"

Everything stopped. The lamp finally fell onto the carpet, the light going out. The sound of glass and porcelain shattering went unnoticed. Everyone’s chests heaved as they stared at Juliet's body. Her body, lying still on the white and brown-stained bedsheet, curls spread out around her head in a blonde halo. Mason wished Juliet was on a bed of grass, not some shitty scratchy green carpet in an equally shitty motel, the moonlight shining in through the now open curtains, onto Juliet’s pale skin. Mason needed to take her tanning this summer, or else.

Movement. All they needed was one tiny movement. Miniscule. A finger lifting. A heartbeat. A flutter of eyelashes. A shoulder lifting. A muscle flexing.

A breath.

For the love of every god and goddess in existence, breathe.

That was the only thing Mason could think as she stared at Juliet’s face. It was a horrific image, the woman she loved laying there dead, mouth gaping open and full of blood, face slack, eyeless. Her eyelashes were clipped where the paring knife had knocked against them. Her hair was patchy from where Stella had pulled a clump out while cleaning her body. She was naked, covered in blood marrow, and laid out on a stained bedsheet. She looked so sad.

Maybe Mason wasn’t doing the right thing. Maybe Juliet was in Heaven and Andrew had lied to her. Maybe Mason was playing into Kalos’s wishes by bringing Juliet back. It didn’t make sense for Juliet to be in Hell, anyway. She was too perfect. She was funny, loud, confident, passionate, creative, strong, crazy out-going, and so much more that Mason could hardly think about without crying. Juliet’s soul was bright and perfect and Mason was ruining it with all her worry and need.

All she needed was for Juliet to come back. She couldn’t stop now, even though she wanted to now. Exhaustion was taking over. Doubt was taking over. She didn’t know where Juliet was. She didn’t know anything other than the fact that she needed to complete this spell, so Juliet had to breathe. If she didn’t, they could all die. It was something she’d talked about with Aurora before, when they’d discussed the one other form of the spell Aurora had seen over two hundred years ago. If they didn’t complete it, they’d all be killed.

☥☥

“Wake up!”

Mason’s fist slammed against Juliet’s chest for the third time. “Wake up!” she screamed, then shook her body. “Wake up! Breathe!”

They’d finished the spell. Everything had gone silent and still.

It had stayed that way.

It had taken around three minutes for Mason to start screaming. She’d been screaming at Juliet for the past five minutes. Her throat hurt. Tears and snot were salty in her mouth, combining themselves with the disgusting mixture of raw oyster, dog blood, and bone marrow that had been settling in on her tongue. No one else had moved yet.

She hit Juliet again. Her head lolled to the side, a stupid bowling ball of useless matter. Blood spilled from her mouth onto the sheet, as useless as her head. As useless as her corpse. As useless as the spell. It was all useless.

Stella’s hand rested on Mason’s shoulder when she went to hit Juliet’s chest again. “Mason,” she whispered.

Mason felt like her chest had been ripped open. She sucked in a shaking breath. She whispered, voice trembling as she continued the incantation again. Aurora hadn’t stopped. Stella kneeled next to her, hand tight on her shoulder.

“She’s gone, Mason.”

“No,” Mason whispered. She shook her head, then placed her hands palm down on Juliet’s chest. She pressed down on her. She went into the incantation again, pressing against Juliet’s chest. She imagined her energy flowing, seeping into Juliet’s skin. She could almost imagine filling Juliet with everything she had for her, all the memories and life Mason saw in her, all the perfection and imperfection Mason had seen from Juliet when she was alive, and even after she had died.

Pressure pressed up against Mason’s palms. Her palms rose and fell with Juliet’s chest, second by second, as air filled her lungs all over again. Hope flooded through Mason, extending from her palms. Mason kept breathing out the incantation, nails digging gently into Juliet’s skin. She could feel blood flowing. There was a heartbeat under there. There was another breath on its way.

Everything went silent again as really did she suck in another breath, even slower than the first.

Her eyes had closed. They opened just enough for Mason to see blue irises, shockingly blue compared to the black makeup still caked around them. Mason leaned over her more, grinning so wide her cheeks hurt.

“You’re alive.”

“Mason, the bond--” Aurora piped up.

Mason’s eyes widened and she nodded, grabbing the two clay dolls. She tied them together, then threw them into the burning fire pit with a loud crack, followed by a crackle as they lit up. She started removing the sprigs of herbs from Juliet’s mouth and chest. She helped her sit up, amazed by the chill of Juliet’s skin and the emotion swelling to the surface in her own. Arms flung around Juliet’s shoulders, Mason buried her head in Juliet’s neck and breathed in deep. She smelled like dirt and decay, but she had a heartbeat. She had some semblance of warmth. Why wasn’t she super warm like usual though?

Mason wrote it off fast, because she suddenly felt something flooding down her back and then wriggling. Her entire body stiffened. “What was that?” she asked.

Juliet’s voice was low, scratchy and quiet as she replied, “I threw up.”

Mason made a face of disgust. “What did you throw up?”

Stella sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “The blood. And some maggots.”

Mason whined loudly. “Gross! Gross, gross, gross!” She didn’t pull away from Juliet, though.

Juliet was alive. She was breathing, and she was smiling, and she seemed like she was laughing a little at having thrown up on Mason. She was standing in front of Mason after they got to their feet. She was showering with Mason. She was scrubbing her face clean, scrubbing everything clean… Mason couldn’t stop watching her. She was beautiful. She was alive.

They laid down together once Mason started yawning every three seconds. Stella and Aurora seemed exhausted too. Aurora left the room with Andrew, though, claiming that she didn’t want to stress Juliet out any further. Coming back to life was stressful enough without the man who killed you sleeping in the same room as you. It didn’t help that Juliet kept staring at Andrew wordlessly while everyone moved the room back to normal.

Actually, she was pretty wordless. She’d hardly spoken since coming back, which was really out of character. Mason watched her. Blonde curls were just starting to poke out of the neck of the sweatshirt by the time Mason spoke. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Juliet replied. She left it at that as she sat down on the bed next to Mason. She looked over Mason’s face. Mason stared back, then smiled at her. She smiled back, but it was tight and closed. Jules didn’t smile like that. Her smile was supposed to be loose and dorky and toothy. It was always a grin, not a tight, closed-lipped thing.

Mason let it go, though. She was too tired to fret too much yet. She could do that tomorrow. Stella had turned out the light already. They pushed back the covers on the bed together, which made Mason giggle. They laid together, Mason’s legs wrapped around one of Juliet’s. Practically the second Mason’s eyes closed, she was asleep.

She didn’t know what time it was when she woke, but the moonlight was still coming through the curtains, so she couldn’t have been asleep that long. Mason’s hand was under Juliet’s sweatshirt, though, on her chest. The stitching was still there in Juliet’s skin. It was scratchy against the thorn pricks in Mason’s palm. She’d forgotten about those until now. She could feel Juliet’s chest rising and falling. It was insane to know she’d done this. She’d brought life back into a corpse. Into her best friend. Into the girl she loved. Juliet owed her, like, the best sex ever when they finally did that.

If they did that. If Juliet was normal. Gods, she hoped Juliet was normal. She seemed mostly normal, just missing some of that spark Mason was accustomed to. Her smile wasn’t the same toothy grin. Her voice wasn’t the same emotional voice. Her eyes didn’t have the same shine. Even her freckles didn’t seem like they were in the right spots at the right intensity. Was there even still more than 106 of them? She’d have to count later.

The shoulder under Mason’s temple shifted. She lifted her head to look at Juliet. Jules was restless. Her head tossed a bit, then her entire body went still. She wasn’t even breathing. Mason felt panic start to set in, but Juliet whispered.

“Juliet Hill is no more.” AUTHOR’S NOTE: Part 2, Juliet, is located HERE. It will provide more insight to what has happened at the end of this piece and in Juliet’s absence!

#rebirth #rēˈbərth #senior comprehensive writing #juliet hill #mason hill #rebirth pt 1 #my writing #writing #fiction #short story #these characters are my babies #i will have more of them soon!#i have them in a lot of instances...#portfolio

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jgthirlwell · 5 years ago

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2019 year in review

This year I also invited some friends and colleagues to reflect on 2019

JG Thirlwell

Composer Foetus Xordox Manorexia Steroid Maximus Venture Bros Archer

www.foetus.org

30 Albums of 2019 (although not all of them came out in 2019) Damon Locks & Black Monument Ensemble Where Future Unfolds (International Anthem) Le Grand Sbam Vaisseau Monde (Dur et Doux Caravaggio Caravaggio 2 & Turn Up (La Buissonne) Swans Leaving Meaning (Young God Records) 13 Million Year Old Ghost (Chaykin) Ben Frost Dark Cycles 1 & 2 (Invada) Sote Parallel Persia / Sacred Horror In Design (Diagonal) 33EMYBW Arthropods (SVBKVLT) Anna Meredith Fibs (Moshi Moshi) Kelly Moran Ultraviolet (Warp) Thom Yorke Anima (XL) Hildur Guðnadóttir Joker Soundtrack (Water Tower Music) Lingua Ignota Caligula (Profound Lore) Igorr Savage Synusoid (Metal Blade) Oli XL Rogue intruder Soul Enhancer (Blo-onm) Red Fang Murder The Mountains (Relapse) Michael Kiwanuka Kiwanuka (Polydor) Richard Dawson 2020 (Weird World) Idiot Flesh Fancy / The Nothing Show / Tales Of Instant Knowledge and Sure Death (YouTube) Ikarus Echo / Mosaiasmic (Ronin Rhythm Records) Poil Sus / Mula Poil (Dur et Doux) Orange Goblin A Eulogy For The Damned (Candlelight) Nivhek After its own death / Walking in a spiral towards the house (Yellow Electric) Ni Pantophobie (Due et Doux) Andrew WK You’re Not Alone (Sony) Rustin Man Drift Code (Domino) Kishi Bashi Omoiyari (Joful Noise) Liturgy HAQQ (YLYLCYN) Croatian Amor Isa (Posh Isolation) Schnellertollermeier Rights / X / Zorn einen ehmer üttert stem!! (Cuneiform) Scandinavian Star Solas (Posh Isolation) Synth Sisters Euphoria (EM records) JPEGMAFIA Veteran + All My Heroes Are Cornballs (EQT)

Notable Concerts I went to dozens of concerts and events in 2019. Here are some of the most notable. All in NYC except where noted.

Jan 8 Matt Marks Tribute at Protoype Festival. Roulette Jan 19 Lemon Twigs MHOW Jan 26 Julia Wolfe / NY Philharmonic Fire In My Mouth Lincoln Center Feb 16 Lucretia Dalt Issue Project Room Feb 23 Willliam Basinski Ambient Church Mar 13 Lou Reed Drones St John The Divine Mar 18 This Heat LPR + July 31 at Elsewhere Mar 20 Oran Ambarchi Fridman Gallery Mar 28 Fire! at Zurcher April 11 Aphex Twin Avant Gardner May 4 Zombi El Cortez May 11 Lawrence English Knockdown Center May 13 The Who + Orchestra Madison Square Garedn May 15 Alva Noto Metropolitan Museum June 11 Andrew Cyrille Marathon Roulette June 13 Christeene / Nastie Band Brooklyn Bazaar June 26 Simon Hanes National Sawdust July 27 Nick Zinner 41 Strings Rockefeller Center July 30 Flaming Lips / Lennon Claypool Delirium Capitol Theater Portchester Aug 2-4 Bang On A Can LOUD Festival Mass MOCA Notth Adams Aug 27 Pharmakon St Vitus Sep 5 JD Emmanuel Issue / First Unitarian Church Sep 18 Lingua Ignota St Vitus Set 21 King Crimson Radio City Oct 10 Melvins Warsaw Oct 19 Helm Cafe Oto Nov 1 Marc Almond Brooklyn Bazaar Nov 6 JPEGMAFIA Bowery Ballroom Nov 23 Caterina Barbieri Unsound Fest, Knockdown Center Nov 30 Knower Bowery Ballroom

Film & TV These films were flawed but resonated with me.

Chernobyl Ozark Once Upon A Time In Hollywood Joker Midsommar The Irishman Uncut Gems

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Matt Johnson

The The https://www.thethe.com/

Looking back on 2019 I decided to list a handful of political / alternative news websites rather than films, albums or books. In the UK the corporate media stooped to shocking new lows during our recent General Election campaign. Such dirty tactics are to be expected of conglomerates owned by the likes of Rupert Murdoch and his fellow right wing billionaires but this time around, previously ‘liberal’ outlets such as the BBC and Guardian also fully participated in the outrageous lies, smears and character assassination against the leader of the opposition Labour Party. The British population were now being forced fed the Establishment’s propaganda du jour from every possible direction. Personally I try to gather my information from as many alternative outlets as possible to contrast with the 24 hour corporate brainwashing we’re subjected to these days. I’ve listed just five sites from the dozens I regularly visit and although I certainly don’t agree with everything expressed on these sites I do feel that it essential that in supposed free and democratic societies we are at least exposed to a variety of viewpoints and opinions - rather than being trapped inside social media echo chambers in an Internet that is increasingly controlled and censored by sophisticated algorithms and where politically correct digital lynch mobs accuse anyone with an opinion that contradicts the official narrative of being a Russian agent! Anyway, a Happy New Year to you all and here’s hoping 2020 sets the new decade off in roaring style!

https://www.medialens.org/

https://www.truthdig.com/author/chris_hedges/

https://www.corbettreport.com/

https://thesaker.is/

https://thoughtmaybe.com/about/

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Tristan Perich

Composer www.tristanperich.com

Here is a rather random selection of 10 of my favorite tracks of 2019, mostly courtesy Spotify recommendations over the year...

Full playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6OUSFLqLsAwhRQRF44yxWN?si=r33XRUuGR_iIOZHg4thuyA

Lechuga Zafiro: Para Abajo feat Matmos & Seba TC https://open.spotify.com/track/2xMnSTIBNZ8AT6w6TdZyU9

Kelpe: A Year and a Day https://open.spotify.com/track/4ANoLzEjtGOBl5qCvEiLov

Shida Shahabi: All In Circles https://open.spotify.com/track/5qMnq88JPMJQ81x5szpN3t

The Vernon Spring: Strength of a Young Man https://open.spotify.com/track/0zQUqR1UcXoPRSrTt0WuPs

Dessert: Thunderbird https://open.spotify.com/track/5rAguSvXxyo5zBq9a5RQWd

Yves V w/ Icona Pop: We Got That Cool (Robert Falcon & Jordan Jay Remix) https://open.spotify.com/track/1lEtudJvZNiibWzXc5m4mh

Selena Gomez: Look At Her Now https://open.spotify.com/track/4yI3HpbSFSgFZtJP2kDe5m

Masahiro Sugaya: Umi No Sunatsubu https://open.spotify.com/track/43egCanD1UNNvoCo2K4veC

Konradsen: Baby Hallelujah https://open.spotify.com/track/6TBnYhxTzSiiVmMBjpZ3gH

Slow Magic: Girls (DJ Clap Remix) https://open.spotify.com/track/31Sdj7aF1h4emCJtkxdy1A

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James Ilgenfritz

Composer https://infrequentseams.com/

James Ilgenfritz's favorite witnessed events, by month:

Hilma af Klint: Paintings for the Future (January, Guggenheim) Anaïs Maviel: who is this ritual for and from? (February, Roulette) Roscoe MItchell, SPACE, Wavefield Ensemble (March, Park Avenue Armory) Blank Forms: Nadah El Shazly (April, Brooklyn Music School) Barre Phillips Solo (May, Zurcher Gallery) Heiner Goebbels: Everything That Happened And Would Happen (June, Park Avenue Armory) Zodiac Saxophone Quartet: Charles Waters, Ras Moshe Burnett, Claire Daly, Lee Odom (July, Scholes St) Tie: Judith Berkson: Partial Memories & Juho Laitinen: Robert Ashley's The Wolfman (August, Ostrava Days, Czech Republic) Zeena Parkins / William Winant / Ikue Mori (September, The Stone) Vinnie Golia / Bobby Bradford Quartet (October, Edgefest in Ann Arbor) LA Philharmonic: Wubbels, Macklay, Sabat, Smith, Perich (Los Angeles, November) Art Ensemble Of Chicago (December, Washington, DC)

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Carl Michael Von Hausswolff

Artist / Composer

https://cmvonhausswolff.net/

10 special artists of 2019 in no specific order: • Hildur Guðnadóttir - her film music • sunn o))) - their Life Metal and Pyroclasts albums • Ilpo Väisänen - his concert in Stockholm • Cindy van Acker - her choreographic work • Jónsi & Alex - their old Riceboy Sleeps album and 2019 tour • Swans - their leaving meaning album • Flowers Must Die - their Där Blommor Dör album • Bigert & Bergström - their climate awareness art • Vanessa Sinclair & Carl Abrahamsson - all their work during 2019 • Hans-Joachim Roedelius and Tim Story - their Lunz 3 album

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Ryan Martin

Label Boss, Dais Records

www.daisrecords.com

Richard Youngs & Raül Refree "All Hands Around the Monument" Sarah Davachi "Pale Bloom" James Hoff "HOBO UFO (v. Chernobyl)" Wojciech Rusin ‎"The Funnel" Caterina Barbieri "Ecstatic Computation" Solange "When I Get Home" Kali Malone "The Sacrificial Code" Deathprod "Occulting Disk" Vatican Shadow "Kuwaiti Airforce" Ben Vida "Reducing The Tempo To Zero" JPEGMAFIA "All My Heroes Are Cornballs" Dean Hurley "Anthology Resource Vol. II: Philosophy of Beyond" Sean McCann "Puck" Oren Ambarchi "Simian Angel" Tyler, The Creator "IGOR" Helm "Chemical Flowers" JAB "Erg Herbe" Emptyset "Blossoms" E-Saggila "My World, My Way" Jacob Kirkegaard "Black Metal Square" Boy Harsher "Careful"

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Weasel Walter

Composer/performer / label head https://weaselwalter.bandcamp.com/

2019 was far from my favorite year. Regardless, I managed to release not one, but two new double albums by The Flying Luttenbachers (as well as two European tours with the unit) in addition to the usual slew of improvised music gigs and releases, and co-ordinating and producing an archival release of vintage NYC weirdness (Ozone). I also rocked Mexico City with Lydia Lunch Retrovirus, played a ridiculous gig with Encenathrakh, and disbanded Cellular Chaos (for now, at least).

When I become obsessed (or re-obsessed with something), it usually leads to a ton of proselytizing Facebook status posts. Combing my 2019 posts, it seems that my musical obsessions this year weren't very highbrow. Ha ha ha. Yes, I'm super into Xenakis, Cecil Taylor and whatever else, but dumber music can supply great creature comfort, and I guess I needed that in large amounts, so that's what it was. Sometimes badass modernists have to take time out to stay in bed all day and read comics because it's a hard cold world out there.

Weasel Walter top 10 musical obsessions of 2019 1. Kid Creole and the Coconuts (1980-1985 era) 2. Redd Kross 3. The Saints "I'm Stranded" 4. Jane Aire and the Belvederes 5. Miles Davis 1972-1975 6. Khanate "Things Viral 7. Mandy Zone & Ozone "Live at Max's Kansas City 1981" 8. Mayhem "Grand Declaration of War" 9. Comedy Bang Bang Episode #554 w/ Middleditch, Sanz 10. Weezer "Pinkerton"

Weasel Walter worst thing about 2019

1. Windows 10

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C.Spencer Yeh

Composer / Performer https://twitter.com/cspenceryeh?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor

Ten live music highlights of 2019 - The Brandon Lopez Trio (Lopez/Steve Baczkowski/Gerald Cleaver) at Fridman Gallery, June 18 - DeForrest Brown Jr., Pennies From Heaven series at CONTROL, January 15 - Charmaine Lee, Nothing Changes at Saint Vitus, January 30 - Bloodyminded at Apartment 202, December 14 - Longmont Potion Castle live QnA, Spectacle Theater, March 23 - Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society, Roulette, July 1 - Helm, Elsewhere, September 21 - Korn, Radiohead, Red Light District, October 26 - Mdou Moctar, Max Fish, September 1 - Mayo Thompson plays "Corky's Debt to His Father," Le Poisson Rouge, December 8

Speed round – five various still on the mind at the end of 2019 - Charlotte Moorman / Nam June Paik long sleeve t-shirt, Boot Boyz - Acacia leaf omelet and shrimp in sour curry, Jitlada, Los Angeles - Lynnée Denise, presentation for Omniaudience (Side Two) presented by Triple Canopy/Nikita Gale/Hammer Museum at Coaxial Arts, May 4 - PARASITE (2019) - ANIARA (2018)

Also, Spectacle Theater turns ten in 2020 and you should really come visit us.

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DJ Food

Artist / composer / DJ / curator

www.djfood.org

Music / podcasts: Pye Corner Audio - Hollow Earth LP (Ghost Box) Various - Corroded Circuits EP 12" (Downfall Recordings) Chris Moss Acid - Heavy Machine 12" (Balkan Vinyl) King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Fishing For Fishes LP (Flightless) Pictogram - Trace Elements cassette (Miracle Pond) Vanishing Twin - The Age of Immunology LP (Fire Records) Big Mouth podcast (various) (Acast) Beans - Triptych LP (Gamma Proforma) Roisin Murphy - Incapable single (Skint) Ebony Steel Band - Pan Machine LP (Om Swagger) People Like Us - The Mirror LP (Discrepant) Coastal County - Coastal County LP (Lomas) Adam Buxton podcast (various) (Acast) Ghost Funk Orchestra - A Song For Paul LP (Karma Chief) Jon Brooks - Emotional Freedom Techniques LP (Cafe Kaput) King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Organ Farmer (from Infest the Rat's Nest LP) (Flightless) Jane Weaver - Fenella LP (Fire Records) Polypores - Brainflowers cassette (Miracle Pond)

Design / packaging: Pepe Deluxé - The Surrealist Woman lathe cut 7" (Catskills) Various - Science & Technology ERR Rec Library Vol.2 (ERR Records) DJ Pierre presents ACID 88 vol. III LP (Afro Acid) Mark Ayres plays Wendy Carlos - Kubrick 7" (Silva Screen) Tomorrow Syndicate - Citizen Input 10" (Polytechnic Youth) The Utopia Strong - S/T LP (Rocket Recordings) Jarvis - Sunday Service LP (ACE records) Andy Votel - Histoire D'Horreur cassette (Hypocrite?) Sculpture - Projected Music 5" zoetrope picture disc (Psyché Tropes) Lapalux - Amnioverse LP (Brainfeeder) Hieroglyphic Being - Synth Expressionism / Rhythmic Cubism LP (On The Corner Records)

Film / TV: Sculpture - Meeting Our Associates (Plastic Infinite) This Time with Alan Partridge (BBC) Avengers: Endgame (Disney/Marvel) Imaginary Landscapes - Sam Campbell (Vinyl Factory) What We Do In The Shadows (BBC2) The Mandalorian (Disney+)

Books / Comics / Magazines: Beastie Boys Book - Mike Diamond & Adam Horowitz (Spiegel & Grau) Cosmic Comics - A Kevin O'Neill Miscellany (Hibernia Books) Electronic Sound magazine (Pam Com. Ltd) Moebius - 40 Days In The Desert (expanded edition) (Moebius Productions) Rock Graphic Originals - Peter Golding w. Barry Miles (Thames & Hudson) 2000AD / Judge Dredd Megazine (Rebellion) Silver Surfer Black - Donny Cates/Tradd Moore (Marvel) Help - Simon Amstell (Square Peg) The Scarfolk Annual - Richard Littler (William Collins) Wrappers Delight - Jonny Trunk (Fuel)

Gigs / Events: Vanishing Twin @ Prince of Wales Pub, Brighton Stereolab @ Concorde 2, Brighton People's Vote March 23rd March, London Wobbly Sounds book launch @ Spiritland, London Confidence Man @ The Electric, Brixton, London Mostly Jazz Funk & Soul Festival, Moseley, Birmingham Bluedot Festival, Jodrell Bank, Manchester HaHa Sounds Collective play David Axelrod's Earth Rot @ Tate Exchange, London School of Hypnosis play In C @ Cafe Oto, London Palace Electrics, Antenna Studios, London The Delaware Road, New Zealand Farm, Salisbury Breaking Convention closing party, Greenwich, London Jonny Trunk & Martin Green's Hidden Library @ Spiritland, Southbank, London Negativland / People Like Us @ Cafe Oto, London HaHa Sound Collective plays the David Axelrod songbook @ The Church of Sound, London, Sculpture, Janek Schaefer, Mariam Rezaei + the 26 turntable ensemble @ The Old Baths, Hackney, London Vanishing Twin & Jane Weaver's Fenella @ Studio 9294, Hackney Wick, London

Exhibitions: Sister Corita Kent @ House of Illustration, London, Augustinbe Kofie @ Stolen Space, London, Victor Vasarely @ Pompidou Centre, Paris, Mary Quant @ V&A Museum, London, Stanley Kubrick @ The Design Museum, London, Tim Hunkin's Novelty Automation Museum, London, Keith Haring retrospective @Tate, Liverpool, Nam June Paik, Tate Modern, London, Takis @ Tate Modern, London, Shepard Fairy @ Stolen Space, London, Damien Hirst 'Mandalas' at the White Cube, London, Bridget Riley @ The Hayward, London, Museum of Neo-liberalism, Lewisham, London.

#playlist #DJ Food #JG Thirlwell #C.Spencer Yeh #Weasel Walter #Ryan Martin #dais records #Carl Michael Von Hausswolff #James Ilgenfritz #Matt Johnson #The THe #Tristan Perich #2019 year in review

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starship-nine · 6 years ago

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Getting into The Dear Hunter

Alright so like this is a post that may go nowhere but I'm making new friends again and want a quick and easy way for them to know how to get into my favorite band.

So in this post I'm gonna be detailing what albums you should DEFINITELY listen to, any you should be wary of, and anything bad (spoilers; that's not on here).

First are Must Listens, as these are the ones I think show the style, influence, and musical, lyrical, and charismatic ability of the group best.

Must Listens

So the obvious answer is "All the Acts", but I'm gonna break it down a bit.

Act V: Hymns With The Devil In Confessional

Act III: Life and Death

Act IV: Rebirth in Reprise

Migrant

Act V and Act IV kind of go hand in hand as two signs of the same coin. Both have intricate, exquisite melodies, but Act IV is a lot happier sounding, whereas Act V is incredibly dark from moment one. Just compare the intro to The Old Haunt on Act IV to The Moon/Awake on Act V.

Act V is my personal favorite Dear Hunter album, and the dark tone has a lot to do with it. The album is varied, going from a large grand spooky rock number to a peaceful acoustic melody, and ending with a mob March, a funeral eulogy, and a Danny Elfman-esque ending piece.

Act IV has some beautiful tracks and works better for the emotional side of things, as it focuses on themes such as existentialism, relationships failing, and even politics and the meaning of organized religion. I'll go over highlighted tracks at the end of each section.

Act III is an album that I feel gets overlooked, even among Dear Hunter fans. The lyrical dissonance in so many of these songs is outrageous, though! The cheerful tone of tracks like Go Get Your Gun and This Beautiful Life when they're about going out and shooting the enemy, the talks of morally repugnant characters such as The Thief, who loots the bodies of dead soldiers regardless of their side, the Poison Woman who offers soldiers drinks only for those drinks to be, obvs, poison, and of course Hunter's father telling the story of how Hunter got conceived. On top of all of this some of the most memorable lyrics in the band's catalog ("Come away young man where the ground is red and you need a mask to breathe" is such a powerful intro lyric), and melodies that still show up later in the story... Don't sleep on Act III, please. It's so good.

Migrant is the only album I've listed not a part of the story, but that's not discounting the album at all; it's still got exquisite melodies, beautiful vocal harmonies, Casey's unforgettable lyrics, and some of the best rock music of the 21st century. Tracks like Whisper show the rockier side, while somber tracks like Bring You Down and the single Shouting At The Rain show us that Casey is more than capable of writing about topics beyond his 6 act story.

Recommended tracks:

Act V: The March, The Moon/Awake, Cascade, Light

Act IV: Wait, The Line, Ouroboros, The Bitter Suite VI

Act III: In Cauda Venenum, This Beautiful Life, Son/Father/Life and Death, Mustard Gas

Migrant: Whisper, The Love, Shouting At The Rain, An Escape

Further Listening

These albums are still good, but they're more for when you've gotten a good feel for the band.

The Color Spectrum

Act II: The Meaning Of And All Things Regarding Ms. Leading

Act I: The Lake South and The River North

All Is As All Should Be

As I said, no Dear Hunter album is bad. But jumping right into these ones without any prior Dear Hunter knowledge is not a good idea. Act II and Act I were very early on, and are a different beast than the newer stuff, and The Color Spectrum is a collection of different EPs all based on different influences, and as such feature no orchestral elements and is just the four band members (two guitars, a bass, and drums). All Is As All Should Be is a fantastic EP to be sure, but knowledge of the band's past work is almost necessary to understand the rather eclectic nature of it.

The Color Spectrum is a hard one, because it's 9 EPs all based on different influences. My personal favorites are Black and Red, but that's because they're based on metal and indie rock and I'm very biased. I think The Dear Hunter is better with a full orchestra, but give this a listen, see what you can find. The melodies are still here, Casey's voice is great as always, and the songs on Black really show how good of a drummer Nick Crescenzo is.

Act II was the album that made the band underground emo heroes, and while I do love it to death, the lyrics regarding the main theme of the album are a little..... immature? As they should be of course, and I still love tracks unrelated to the whole idea of love vs. Lust. This album is also catchy as all hell, and it probably won't leave your head for a week. Songs like Black Sandy Beaches, Where The Road Parts, and ESPECIALLY The Lake and The River have gorgeous compositions and melodies. You really can't go wrong with it, so long as you can excuse some higher eloquence high school dissing of your ex.

Act I was the very first album the band ever recorded, and as such it's easily the shakiest. I still love it, but Casey's dynamic range isn't quite there yet. Tracks like Battesimo Del Fuoco still hit me in the right spot, and songs like His Hands Matched His Tongue work on a level I can't quite explain, but overall this is the shakiest and the hardest for me to recommend.

All Is As All Should Be was actually cowritten by people who went to The Dear Hunter's summer camp! That's really cool. The album is a good 6 song EP, melodies all over, and some of the best lyricism in their catalog. But alongside it is the silliness of the line "Pay no mind to what the haters think, cause they're just haters". Its still good!! It's really good! But it's not my go-to recommendation album.

Recommend tracks

Color Spectrum: Filth and Squalor, This Body, We've Got A Score To Settle, A Curse of Cynicism

Act II: The Lake and The River, The Bitter Suite III: Embrace, Black Sandy Beaches, Dear Ms. Leading

Act I: 1878, Battesimo Del Fuoco, His Hands Matched His Tongue, The Inquiry of Ms. Terri

All Is As All Should Be: The Right Wrong, All Is As All Should Be, Witness Me, Beyond The Pale

Well that's all I got. Sorry for the long post, but I just really love this band.

#The Dear Hunter #long post

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boonesfarmsangria · 6 years ago

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Foals: 'We relish the potency of a big, knuckle-dragging riff'

Double albums are a notoriously risky prospect.

For every classic like Sign O' The Times or Exile On Main Street, there's a skip-load of failed experiments and self-indulgent nonsense. Even The Beatles' White Album could have done with a quick trim (Piggies, anyone?)

So it was with trepidation (was it tho?) that fans greeted the announcement of Foals' newest project, a sprawling, double-disc epic that promised to address crumbling political systems, ecological crises and social isolation with hyperspace rhythms and arena-sized rock riffs.

Even more nerve-wracking, it was the Oxford band's first record without bassist Walter Gervers; and, for the first time in their 15-year history, they decided to produce the whole thing by themselves,

"It could have been an absolute stinker," concedes frontman Yannis Philippakis. "There's a potential when you self-produce to really get lost in your own crazy maze. And we kind of did, but we got through it."

To keep it digestible, the record was split in two. Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost Part One arrived in March, reaching number two in the charts and earning Foals their third Mercury Prize nomination .

Part Two hits the shelves (or whatever the streaming equivalent of shelves is) Friday - picking up the story from the first volume's closing tracks, where "the hedges are on fire" and "the birds are singing, 'it's the end of the world'".

"In part one there's a sense of being overwhelmed by these enormous, monolithic problems," says Philippakis, "but in part two, the songs are taking place in the aftermath of the wreckage and there's a sense of, 'Well, I'm still here, I'm still standing,' and how do you persevere and find a sense of purpose?"

Sitting on a flight case backstage at the Mercury Prize, with his hand wrapped in bandages , the star talked us through Part Two's key moments - from the artwork to its lyrics and the unconventional release strategy.

Gardening was a key part of making the album

We took some time off before making this record, because I didn't want to write from a place of obligation or routine. I had a craving for getting lost in domestic, small routines: Laundry, cat litter and gardening, which I find incredibly therapeutic.

I like the rhythm of it. You plant something and you're responsible for it, and you see it grow from seedling to fruit. Maybe as a contrast to touring, I like being anchored in one spot. And I feel like there's a connection to my parents and grandparents. There's something benevolent and ancestral about growing things like vegetables.

The album opens in the ruins of the old world

Red Desert is an instrumental that Jimmy [Smith, guitarist] wrote and sent it to me. I instantly felt it could have been an alternate soundtrack to Kubrick's 2001 - it conjures up this image of a barren, primitive, broken landscape.

At the end of Part One, it descends into fire imagery and there's a sense of defeat - so this was the perfect way to open up Part Two. You're re-entering the world that ended in part one. I guess it's like a eulogy.

Black Bull and Like Lightning are the album's 'defiant, menacing' centrepiece

Those are some of the crudest songs we've written, in terms of riffs. We were really relishing the feeling of just digging into our instruments and the potency of a big, knuckle-dragging riff on a guitar. We're enjoying that in an almost defiant way.

Black Bull's lyrics tap into this persona I sometimes feel on stage - this megalomaniacal character that feels all-powerful and immortal and untouchable. I wanted to fill the song with that type of dangerous, masculine energy so that it would act like blotting paper for all the toxic or destructive feelings you can have.

For me, there's something dangerous that I need to keep check of.

Releasing two albums reflects people's listening habits

We didn't go in with the intention of doing two records, but we hit a purple patch and there was symmetry to the songs, so it was easy to cleave them into two distinct bodies.

But it's also a response to the way the music industry's changed. People are just burning through music a lot quicker. The consumption rates are faster, which is a shame. If you spend two years working on something, to think that it's being consumed and discarded quite quickly is actually really troubling.

The Runner has a dual meaning

We came up with that riff in a sound check and it just felt good on a bone marrow level. We didn't really question it as a piece of music, it was just something where we knew it had a power to it.

It existed for a while before I found a way in with the vocals, and then I had the idea of the protagonist running through the remnants of what exists, and battling that but also battling the internal depletion. So it can work on a level where it's about depression.

Yannis was inspired by an architect who was turned into a diamond

Ikaria and 10,000 Feet are the turning points of the album. That's where it starts to become about mortality.

I was interested in the idea of changing states, and I was really struck by the story of an architect from Mexico called Luis Barragán. There was a fight over his estate and, to cut a long story short, his family donated some of his ashes in order to get access to his archive, and those ashes were turned into a diamond that's now in an engagement ring worn by a wealthy socialite lady.

I don't know why, but I just became preoccupied with that story. It seemed a fitting conclusion for the album that it should become about no longer being bodily here - so the record starts to go off into the ether.

The artwork was a 'godsend'

I was struck by the photographer Vicente Muñoz , who's from Ecuador. He uses infra-red film to take images of lush, red foliage, interacting with buildings. And when I read about his work, I learned he was dealing with the conflict between man's accomplishments and nature - so that felt like a godsend, because it encapsulated what a lot of record one is. Especially because we felt that Part One was a "red" record; and as a band, we hadn't made a red record since our first album [Antidotes].

The cover on Part Two is photographed by Maggie Steber , who's a National Geographic photographer, and it's of a cross in the Day of the Dead ceremony in Oaxaca. Again, we felt the orange and black colour scheme fitted the palette of the record - which has a sense of mortality to it.

I essentially just saw both the pictures and was struck by them on a gut level, but then the meanings behind the pictures resonated exactly with what we wanted, so it coalesced beautifully.

The final lyrics sum up the whole, two-album project

" Time brings low the best of things / When we open our eyes ".

Do I have to explain that? It's just that everything good in the world - whether it's our own individual lives, or relationships or the Egyptian empire, or human society or civilisation as a whole - everything will pass. Everything is ephemeral at a certain point, and that's what it's all about.

Interview || Mark Savage || BBC

📷Andy Ford

#foals #yannis philippakis #actual reading #interview #enswbl2 #2019 #this too shall pass

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stedes-black-bonnet · 6 years ago

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My Baby Does Me: Chapter 22

POV: John Deacon x reader; Jim and reader’s lunch date, Part 1.

Notes: MASTERLIST? Still updating weekly, yes even after the Oscars this Sunday.

Warnings: Part 1 is sad AF; Part 2 will be girl-talk and light and wonderful.

Abstract: bring it back, bring it back...

------------------------

Jim Hutton remembered holding John Deacon’s hand. Jim’s hands were larger, and they easily encapsulated John’s hand without flash, effort, or tricks of the light. He kept seeing that snapshot, while looking at your surprised face: he saw the black, elegant fabric of John’s blazer, tailored to perfection, the black french cuff of his button-down, but, mostly, what Jim saw were the gaudy emerald cuff links Veronica had given John. He saw John’s hand, his wrist, thin and pale, his tense thighs, and the new suit he’d never wear again. John couldn’t take his eyes off those cuff links, and that twisted a barbed spike deep in Jim’s heart; it was a keen, silent suffering, it was hail falling on deaf ears, it was that nightmare where you were being pursued but couldn’t scream, it was heartbreak, and Jim would never forget it. He couldn’t stop staring at them, with his red eyes, tired from lack of sleep. Jim was pretty sure John hadn’t slept more than 10 hours in the past week. He wasn’t sure John would ever sleep again.

Jim was holding John’s hand. Freddie had been on the other side of John, clasping his other hand. Freddie was tapping out comforting melodies on John’s palm, trying to lure him into some reaction, any reaction. Freddie was the first person John had called. Their bond had always been surprisingly tight, secure, and unbreakable. Freddie could lift the tapestry of shyness from John, get him dancing, laughing, and flirting in ways Veronica hadn’t even been capable of; and John could go head-to-head with Freddie in any insult or shade challenge--especially if they were on the same team, and John, a ride or die romantic, had been the first person to publicly defend Jim and Freddie’s romance. Which made this moment all the more difficulty poignant and utterly devastating.

“I don’t know if I can find the words to describe it,” Jim said to you. “The effect it had on me, on the band, on Johnny.” He had tears in his brown eyes. You squeezed his hand, thinking of Deacy, and how it was quickly becoming his signature move in your mind. And how hollow it seemed now, squeezing Jim’s hand; the weight of the room had changed. Yellow was supposed to be a happy color, but now it seemed suffocating.

He called Freddie first. Freddie had picked up the phone, laughing into it. Jim had been telling him some joke, or some funny story; he didn’t remember the details, only that Freddie had been laughing when he picked up the phone’s receiver. A full laugh, with his whole body, all teeth and cheeks, contagious joy in only the way Freddie was capable of spreading. Jim leaned into Freddie, kissed his neck, curious who was on the other line. Then, as if out of nowhere, like the power going out, or a sun shower, Jim felt Freddie’s body stiffen; he collapsed into the chair he had been standing near, and froze, listening.

“I knew something had happened, Y/N.” Jim wiped a few tears from his cheeks. One lingered in his mustache, and you couldn’t look at anything else. “But I didn’t know what, or who Freddie was talking to, but I desperately wanted to know; because whatever had happened had just changed everything.”

Jim could feel the calluses on John’s fingers. His own hands were rough from a lifetime of working, not making art. And yet, regardless of their nonsensical, pointless, yet obvious class divide, here they both were, experiencing one of the only guarantees life had to offer. John’s hands were shaking; Jim and Freddie kept surreptitiously exchanging concerned glances. They were thinking the same thing with each glace; if you ever died, I’d surely die, too. John’s hands were shaking, and his grey eyes couldn’t leave those cuff links.

A pair of hands reached from behind to hug John’s shoulders. They lingered, and Jim could see on his periphery a blond head just delicately resting on John’s. Their hair mingled, Roger waited, breathing slowly, trying to transfer his rhythm over to his dearest friend. Roger’s emotional strength, fortitude, and prowess were precisely and desperately what John required. Though, nothing was working. Nothing was helping. Roger let go, though it was clear he did not want to, but he had been given the hardest task of the day; he had been trusted with it by John; there simply was no one else for the job. Boisterous, rowdy, and a prodigious cad Roger Taylor might be, but he was also expertly delicate, unsuspectingly shrewd, and the most empathetic person any of them had ever met.

“Roger is lousy at, oh, 85% of commitments, but when he is really needed, when everything is the most dire and vital, he delivers like no one else can.” Jim cleared his throat, and took a careful sip of tea, thinking how best to continue.

Freddie was clutching the phone. He hadn’t said anything yet. Jim took Freddie’s hand, troubled more than curious now. They were two hands holding. Freddie sniffed and started silently sobbing, “John,” he said; it was all Jim could make out. Jim began wiping his lover’s tears away with his pocket square, emerald like the cuff links John would be wearing that Veronica had given to him on no special occasion, just because she could, when his hands would be shaking, on the day when he would be wearing the new black suit he’d later bury deep in his backyard, next to the dog of theirs that had died the year before.

“John,” Freddie said, again, trying to sound strong, trying to sound in control, “Don’t move, darling; Jim and I will be there in a flash.” He hung up the phone and leaned into Jim. Tears fell down both of their cheeks; Jim couldn’t help crying when others were, even if he didn’t know why they were upset himself.

“Freddie, what’s happened to John?”

“Veronica was in an accident.” He managed to say. Freddie pulled away from Jim, looking him in the eyes. “If you ever,” his voice stuck in his throat, unable to speak, only hearing John’s confused, wounded howls that had greeted Freddie from the other end of the phone—howls he’d never be able to forget—Freddie gazed at Jim with sharp focus. He swallowed hard, and said, “If you ever left, I wouldn’t make it. It sounds melodramatic, dear, but there you have it.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you silly man.” Jim said finally. He took a steadying breath, and asked, “Freddie, I’m scared; you need to tell me what happened to Veronica?”

“She died.” Freddie told Jim.

“She died?” You asked, still in shock.

“Yes,” said Jim, fresh tears brimming over his eyes. “She died, oh, three years ago, now. Enough time will never pass.”

Roger, wearing an understated black suit, made his way to the podium. He hated everything about this. He hated what he was wearing, he hated why they were all here, but what he hated most was the look in John’s eyes. He wasn’t present, in his eyes, John wasn’t there. He was time traveling, stuck in a hell of his own making, thinking of every past moment, doing everything he could to deny the reality of his present and future. Roger wanted to take John’s suffering away; Roger could take it, he could survive it--fuck, he’d weather it with style. But John--of all of them--he didn’t deserve this. This wasn’t fair. If Roger had a wife, he’d sacrifice her for John. If it meant he could keep Veronica and the light would return to his dull eyes, Roger would cut off his hands for John to make it happen.

It was standing room only, as Roger surveyed the cavernous church. Though, even the aisles were bursting with friends, colleagues, and loved ones. This was the most private event Roger would ever perform at. And it was a performance, because more than anything, Roger wanted to vomit in the nearest flower display and drown himself in a case of the communion wine, but he would be John’s rock; he wouldn’t show his nerves or his sorrow.

“‘Time healing all wounds is the biggest lie they tell you; time doesn’t heal nothing; you heal yourself by doing the works.’” Jim said, a sad smile on his face. “That’s how he opened the eulogy; he knew exactly what to say, but he always does. It was, to this date, the only time I’ve ever seen Roger cry. Publicly, and without shame. It surprised us all, to be honest. He hides that heart of his under twenty thousand leagues of sea.”

“For those of you who don’t know, I introduced John and Veronica.” Roger’s voice halted, then. He looked at John, waiting for his friend to return his gaze. He did, slowly, and grey eyes met blue. “I am,” Roger said, “so sorry. I shouldn’t have.” Roger’s eyes glowed sapphire bright as tears welled and slipped down his face. “I will always blame myself for why we are all here today; it is my fault. If you have to blame someone,” he said, staring at John, “blame me. Don’t blame yourself,” he said to John, and only to John, “Never blame yourself, and don’t blame her. She’d be here if she could; she never missed one of my performances after all.”

“Funeral laughter is the worst,” Jim told you, “desperate and unsure. But if anyone could make a crowd laugh at a funeral, it was Roger Taylor.”

Jim remembered feeling John’s body shake, but not with laughter. At least not with genuine laughter; he had been hysterical. There was simply no other word for it. He and Freddie had arrived at the hospital, and they were led to John, who was in one of those terrible rooms they put you when the news is bad.

“They won’t let me see her.” He kept laughing, like it was a joke only he understood. He kept saying it, over and over, as if he were trying to explain the easy words to a child who wasn’t comprehending their meaning. “They won’t let me see her!” Jim walked over to John, who was pacing, and wouldn’t stop even when Jim put a hand on his shoulder. “They won’t let me see her.”

Freddie looked at the doctor, fear was in his brown eyes, and something like anger; he didn’t know how long John had been like this and they weren’t doing anything to help his friend. How long had he been alone in this little room?

“Why won’t they let you see her, Johnny?” Jim asked, tenderly.

“‘The state of her body.’ The state of her...body.” He was running a shaking hand through his hair. “Crushed or something? Not entirely extracted from between her car...and the other car.” He sounded unsure, like he didn’t believe what he was saying, what he had heard, what he had been told. “Her body? Her body? They said body?” He looked at the doctor, frantically. “She’s not a body! That’s what they say about someone who’s dead.”

Jim looked back at Freddie, then; something in John had completely broken. Jim saw tears of outrage, worry, and a terrible pitying compassion rise in his husband’s eyes. Jim slowly backed away from John.

“I need to make a call,” he said to Freddie. “Do you have this?”

“What, darling?” Freddie was entirely distracted by this scene; John was still pacing, and Freddie was tracking him like cat, readying himself to pounce if need be.

“Freddie!” Jim said loudly, he put his hands on Freddie’s cheeks to force him to pay attention.

“I’m here.”

“You need to watch him; I’m going to get Roger.”

“Yes, darling; the doctors can keep doing fuck-all; I’ve got this.” He waved his hand in his signature flourish.

“As far as I’m concerned Veronica was the only good thing about John,” Roger was saying. He tried a smile, but it didn’t work, even with the funeral laughter escalating. “She had all of his best qualities, and none of his bad ones. Though Veronica said all the time John was perfect--maybe for no one else but her. And good God, she was right; no one else understood him until her. Not like anyone else wanted to.”

Jim felt John’s body rock back and forth. Roger’s speech stalled, as he saw John stand up. Perhaps it was Roger’s intuition, or that he knew John so well, either way, he followed his gut, and started wrapping up his speech abruptly. “Right! Veronica, what’s left to say about someone so capable of rendering men speechless--”

John wrenched his hands away from Freddie and Jim, stumbling wildly at a running pace down the aisle aimlessly towards the exit. The only thought in his head was of escaping. Brian stood, making to intercept him, and was cut short by a chaotic blond blur racing past him, shoving him out of the way of his single-minded goal. Roger had leaped down from the pedestal like a panther, and chased after John at an all out sprint. It wasn’t funny, but it was. Under the morbid circumstances, it was the funniest thing any of them had seen all week. Jim and Brian smiled faintly at each other; it was the most Roger-esque departure they could have imagined: end on a one-liner and run for the exit. Freddie was the first one to laugh about it. It was a quiet giggle at first, clear and melodic, undeniably Freddie’s. Unable to stop themselves, Jim and Brian joined in, unashamed and unafraid their laughter echoed around the church; it was possibly inappropriate, maybe in bad taste, but it was the first genuine laughter they’d had together in the past week, and as they laughed a little portion of the vice-like grip of tension around their hearts began to lift.

Jim had tried calling Roger from a payphone outside the hospital, but he hadn’t answered. Roger had some habitual haunts, record stores, clubs, fucking car dealerships--time was of the essence. Jim collected his thoughts. This wasn’t an easy task. Wherever he closed his eyes, he kept seeing John pacing, desperately trying to understand how Veronica was now reduced to being just a body, and not his wife. Jim started the car, shaking away fresh tears. He needed to focus and find Roger. The tears could and would wait.

Pulling up outside Roger’s home was a no go—his Alfa Romeo wasn’t there. This was useful information, however; Jim knew which car to search for, his goddess in red. By far, she was the easiest of all his cars to find; flashy and bright. Next, Jim tried Roger’s favorite basement record store; also no luck there.

“It was the afternoon, Roger might be just waking up,” Jim told you between bites of a biscuit, “So, I don’t know why or what possessed me to go there, but there was this hole-in-the-wall diner Roger went to while the band was still waiting to make their first big break.”

The look on Roger’s face when he talked about the diner was always one of nostalgia; it was the look of a man recalling what it was like to go out in public and not be recognized. When Jim pulled up to the diner, Roger’s goddess in red was parked across the street. Jim silently thanked St. Anthony, and his blessed Irish mother, and ran into the diner, but Roger wasn’t there. As quickly as he had entered, he left, standing still outside, thinking.

The top was up.

“The top had been up, you see.” Jim explained.

Jim ran over to the car, and banged on the driver’s side window.

Roger turned his back to Jim.

“Oh you can’t outrun me you good for nothing blond rotter.” Jim yelled into the street, banging even harder on the car’s window.

“I’m sleeping one off, Jim.” Roger growled.

“There are homeless people sleeping on the streets, and here you are sleeping one off in your fucking car, and you own four homes; go sleep it off in one of them.”

“Thanks, Jim; Los Angeles does sound nice this time of year.” Roger begrudgingly rolled down the window of his red Alfa Romeo. He looked at Jim’s face, but couldn’t see it, nonetheless he could tell something was wrong. He fished around the passenger seat for his glasses--black circles tinted yellow--and put them on. Jim’s eyes were puffy, red, dark circles, dried tears. “What the bloody hell has happened?!”

Roger ran into the little room, Jim following hard behind. John was standing in the corner, arms wrapped around himself, staring dead into some vacant space only grief could occupy. Freddie met Jim and Roger at the doorway.

“He wouldn’t let me near him, dearies.” Freddie said. “So, I just sang to him--any silly old tune that popped into my head, which sort of calmed him down, I think. He stopped pacing at least.” Jim wrapped his arms around Freddie, and they stood there, hugging.

“Right, I’ve got this.” Roger slowly walked over to John. “John?”

He didn’t respond.

“John?” Roger asked, again.

Still nothing.

“John, do you know what’s happened?”

His grey eyes met Roger’s blue ones.

“Do you?” His voice was molasses, a dark basement, the feeling of being pursued, his voice was the hairs on the back of your neck standing up for no apparent reason, but you’d learn about the reason when you least expected it.

“I do, yes.” Roger’s voice was steady, firm. He could play this game; fuck, he had invented this game. He took another step closer to him.

John’s body tensed, his eyes glared into Roger’s, his fists balled; he was breathing for a fight. Anything to not think, Roger figured. He took another step closer, shrinking the distance drastically.

“Say it.” Roger challenged.

John didn’t respond.

“Say it!” Roger commanded.

Nothing.

“What? you want to hit me?”

A twitch.

“Will that help you? Because if it will, hit me.” Roger took his glasses off, tossed them to Jim. He took his grey blazer off, and tossed that to Freddie.

“Here--hit me.” With the glasses off, his eyes were piercing and moist; Roger was crying, it was a private cry, meant for an audience of one, meant to be witnessed by John only. “Please, go ahead. Whatever you need. I’m here.”

John made his move. He was fast, but Roger was faster. He grabbed John’s arms, and pinned him against the wall, hard.

Roger slapped John on the face.

“Wait--” you said, wiping tears of your own away, “Roger slapped him?”

“Yes,” Jim answered. “It was the support he needed, and only Roger could see it; for such a blind melon, he sees more than the rest of us.”

Roger slapped John, again.

The sound snapped through the small room.

Freddie and Jim, breathing in unison, froze.

Roger slapped John, yet again.

Roger raised a blond eyebrow at John, holding his arms, pressing his body into the wall. Cardio and drumming: he could hold John with force for hours if need be. No matter what, he’d be there for John. If this was what he needed, he’d do it, never question it, and embrace it.

And that’s when John started to cry.

He gave up his ineffectual struggles against Roger’s drumming strength.

John folded himself into Roger’s body.

Roger held him, silently crying, feeling John’s sobs shake their bodies.

“She’s dead.” John said.

“Yes.”

“She’s dead.”

“Yes.”

“She’s not coming back.”

“No, she’s not.”

There was a knock on the door, then.

Brian entered the room with one of the useless doctors.

“This will be indelicate,” Brain said, “So, they’ve asked me to say it.”

Roger swiveled on the spot, lifting John, so he was facing the wall, and Roger was able to face Brian.

He continued, “They’re ready for someone to identify the body.”

“Did you need to tackle me so hard? In the street? In front of the bloody cameras?” John was two shots in, holding a white napkin to his forehead.

Roger, next to him, also two shots in, said, “You really left me no choice. Leaving your own funeral like that.”

“It wasn’t my funeral. Might as well as been, though.” John signaled to the bartender for another round. “And how you chased down the photographers and what? How did you put it?”

“I think it was ‘I’ll set your mother on fire and fuck your brother, if you don’t destroy that film.’”

They laughed together, wiping tears away.

“What are we on now? Right--Veronica’s legs.” They clinked their glasses together, and downed their their shot of tequila. John checked the cut on his forehead. “Really, though: Never seen someone surrender their camera so fast in my life.”

“Could have had Miami pay them off, but that was more fun for me.” Roger smirked, and singled for another round. “Looking good, mate; that shiner really improves your manly charms.”

“I don’t really feel it anymore; my personal thanks to whoever invented tequila.”

“Right,” Roger said passing John shot number four, “Veronica’s thighs.”

“Veronica's thighs.” John repeated, downing his shot. “Miami told me he’d been paying off every newspaper from writing about it.” Tears threatened John’s eyes once more. He had, more or less, become accustomed to crying in public now.

“That was Brian’s idea.” Roger explained.

“Good man, Bri.”

“The best. Second only to me.” Roger waved to the bartender, “Mate, leave the bottle, and bring a second.”

“I suppose the others will find us eventually.” John said, pouring the next round. “Veronica’s dimples when she smiled.”

“None better.” Roger toasted and swallowed his shot.

“I’ll do it,” Roger said, holding John’s shaking body. “Brian, would you take him from me? I’ll be back straight away.”

Brain crossed the room, and took John in his arms.

“Oh, if he starts denying it again, just slap him once across the face; worked wonders for me.”

“You knew the deceased?” The doctor asked. They were standing in a room Roger would never forget. Metallic, small, cold. A body was resting under a white sheet.

“Yes, since university.”

“I must warn you, it is graphic.”

“That’s why I’m here and the husband isn’t.” He said simply. “He shouldn't remember her like this. Let’s get on with it.”

The doctor lifted up the sheet.

Roger flinched. “Yes, that’s her.”

The doctor replaced the sheet.

Roger poured the next shot of tequila. They had lost count, and hadn’t been discovered yet by the rest of the band. They were on the second bottle, though. They were two friends commiserating, saluting, sharing.

“I never thanked you...” John’s voice trailed off.

“Don’t.” Roger grasped John’s hand. “Never do.” He let go of his hand, and grabbed his shot. “Veronica’s ass?”

“None better.” John smiled, sadly.

-------------------

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#john deacon x reader #john deacon #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy #joe mazzello #Freddy Mercury #jim hutton #rami malek #aaron mccusker #brain may #gwilym lee #bohemian rhapsody #miami beach #queen x reader

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movingkeepmoving · 6 years ago

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Sofía, Bulgaria - June 2019 🇧🇬

The second last day of my journey was ready to start. It started once more early but not as early as intended to at first. My original plan included a coach trip from Thessaloniki to Sofía, but as lucky as I was on this trip, I got adopted by two fellow fans who invited me on their ride on a more comfortable car. While I did know tiny bits of Greek, I didn't know a single thing about Bulgaria. Well, not 100% true - I knew they're part of the European Union, they don't have the Euro and they use the Cyrillic alphabet. That's it. I didn't know they were not part of Schengen and I also didn't know a single thing about their fascinating long history.

Once being dropped of in Sofía, I fell in love with the city. Its different, it's full of history - you can tell by just walking around for five minutes - and it's super green and full of parks. I head to my hostel, ring the bell and after a couple of minutes an old lady appears, telling me in broken English there's something wrong with my room and hands me a phone. The man on the other end explains me that they have anogher building down the road, the woman will bring me there, and they will upgrade my single hostel room to a studio for the same price. Alright?!? I follow her and we have a nice and brief talk in English. I tell her I'm from Germany and it's my first time in Bulgaria, I'm here for a concert, but not to play myself - to watch a band. She's charming and welcoming as she's trying her best in communicating with me.

She drops me off with her colleague at the studio house. This new woman doesn't speak any English, so she hands me her telephone and I talk to the guy I talked before. We discuss the final details and then I have a super huge studio with a kitchen and sofa and a large bed all for myself. I charge my batteries, check the nearby restaurants and download the local Taxi App. It works like Beat in Greece, you can pay via credit card and so you don't have to withdraw too much money from the next ATM. I'm craving something fresh and healthy so I get late lunch at a close by fusion restaurant that serves an amazing poke bowl. As I have a full day left for sightseeing, I decide to head down early for the venue. I'm totally on my own this time and you never know how crazy the Bulgarian folks are about gigs. On my way getting there I have the best and cutest old taxi driver you can imagine. She talks English, shows me some sights of the city while passing them, tells me to definitely use the app after the show to not get scammed by another cab driver as the venue is in a students area and he hands me a tourist info in English about the most famous sights. He also changes the radio station to the rock channel once I told him about my plans for the evening and in just that moment, the gig gets announced on the station and Dropkick Murphys are played on the radio...

Boy, was I wrong about the audience. Nobody shows up until 30 minutes before door. The first person I get in contact with is G. from the UK. He tells me he came down as DKM and FT are his favourite artists. Well once more - I'm not alone at a Frank Turner gig and I guess I never will. Doors open, and about 6 people head into the venue, an ice hockey stadium. Once the six of us are in, nothing happens for an hour. I walk around, get me a coke and water and some caramel popcorn as apperently this is what you can buy at a gig in Sofia. Franks set is moved back by 20 minutes and once he enters the stage there are some hundred people inside the venue while the rest is still out front smoking. (For the first time of this tour, the promoter made actually sure that nobody is smoking indoors! It's a blessing!)

Once more some Frank Turner fans gather around close to the front. I can hear them singing both on my left and my right side, which makes me smile like a nutter and sing even louder. It's once more utterly insane to whitnes Franks first gig in Bulgaria. I guess it's pretty hard regarding the size of the venue and the small amount of people who do know him. But it doesn't stop him. No, he tries even harder, chats his bits through the Bulgarian language and he even managed to sing "Eulogy" in it. It's like his magic trick, everytime he does that, the crowds starts to respect him a tiny bit more. He tells the crowd how crazy it is for him to finally play a show in Bulgaria and says its pretty special to him as he wrote his university dissertation about British-Bulgarian relationships. This evening I sing extra loud during "I still believe" - as it somehow became the song of my trip to the East. I would never had thought that I would travel all the way down to Greece to see my favourite artist opening up for an American band. Well in the end I travelled to those places and the shows were the red cherry on top of doing the trip.

Sofia was finally the gig where I was able to witness a FULL Dropkick Murphys gig. I got me a seat on the side and enjoyed the non smoking environment. From the very first start about 2700 people went nuts. While looking around I saw so many happy faces and I once more realised how lucky I am living in Berlin with 5-10 gigs every day. These people had to wait more than 20 years to see Dropkick Murphys play in their city - in their country. And the guys from Massachusetts showed them what Punkrock was about. At one point singer Ken stopped the band as he saw someone in the crowd doing Nazi salutes. Ken was all about to jump into the crowd and fight that guy. Everything happened at the other side of the room, I didn't see anything besides a raging singer. But in this moment Ken earned a lot of respect from my end.

Luckily the show was ready to continue and I wandered a bit around until a friend of the band invited me to come up sidestage to become part of the final stage invasion of my tour. I've been side stage for many shows in my life, but to see this wild and happy crowd from up there made my heart jump with joy. It was beautiful and being part of the stage invasion some minutes later felt absolutely unreal. Do you know this feeling when you just think you're dreaming? That was me, dancing and singing around on a stage in Sofía, Bulgaria. Even when I look back to it now, I can not really believe this did actually happen to me.

Sometimes life is full of big surprises and I'm still so happy I decided to do this trip when all my fellow gig buddies said they wouldn't join. Traveling and going to my gigs on my very own made me learn a lot about myself but also a lot about those foreign countries and their people who react differently to you if you actually interact with them. When you're travelling in a group you tend to keep to yourself and turn around to keep chatting in your group conversation. This wasn't possible for me, I had to get in contact with people and I loved it! One more day in Sofia ahead...

#traveling #always on tour #solotravel #frank turner #fthc #Sofia #Bulgaria #Bulgarien #Dropkick Murphys #Dkm

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britesparc · 3 years ago

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Weekend Top Ten #562

Top Ten Cover Versions

Music! Music’s great, isn’t it? who doesn’t like music. Music, music, music.

One of the things I love about music is how nobody complains if a song is remade. Paul Fiege’s Ghostbusters (2016) isn’t as good as Ivan Reitman’s Ghostbusters (1984) but it is a different beast; a longer, sillier, female-focused film, with a tone and a sense of humour all its own. But still the general vibe – even outside of the mouth-breathing weirdos who posted death threats – is that you can’t remake Ghostbusters. Yet songs (and plays!) get rebooted and reproduced all the time, and it’s seen as a cool reinterpretation of art by a different artist.

Weird.

Anyway, cover versions. Interesting because sometimes they can just feel like a groovy new twist on a classic tune, like Travis singing Hit Me Baby One More Time. Sometimes they can completely take over the track – whether it was famous or not – to the extent that this version becomes definitive. It’s also a bit weird with older songs – like from the fifties or something – because the culture of the industry was different, so often a writer would write a song and it would be performed by several different artists in a very short space of time. So is that a “cover” or just a different way of writing and performing music?

I dunno. I’m just a bloke on the internet.

So what we have here is a list of my favourite cover versions of songs. Fun interpretations, iconic recreations, songs that you might not even realise were covers. And if you’re already sick of Christmas music (heaven forbid!) then it’ll give you a little break.

Hurt (Johnny Cash): the original Nine Inch Nails version, written by Trent Reznor, was a personal meditation of his own pain, but Cash absolutely owns it, his slow, sombre baritone adding weight to every word. A metafictional eulogy by a musical titan, it’s about past mistakes but also the inevitability of loss and death, and of the changing nature of fame and power. The video rocks, too.

I Will Always Love You (Whitney Houston): Houston’s performance in The Bodyguard and the stratospheric success of this song indelibly linked the artist and the music; especially so given the ridiculous nature of that sustained note (you know the one). So many people are shocked to learn it was originally a Dolly Parton song, which is a bit weird considering Dolly’s version is actually in The Bodyguard too.

Always on My Mind (Pet Shop Boys): although he wasn’t the first person to record it, I think we can all agree that the Elvis Presley version is probably the one that’s paramount in people’s minds. But the Pet Shop Boys took it and rendered it in their own inimitable style, exchanging slow baritone for synth pop but somehow keeping the melancholy vibe alive.

Mad World (Gary Jules & Michael Andrew): going the other way a little bit, Tears for Fears’ fast-paced eighties bop, with its plinky-plonky synth, is turned into a mournful, wailing ballad, a pean to sadness and thoughts of mortality. It’s a miserable delight.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow (Eva Cassidy): taking such a classic song and producing a version different but also powerful and iconic in its own way takes real talent. Rainbow has been covered a lot, of course, but Cassidy’s tragic acoustic rendition is just beautiful in the extreme, and all the more sad given her early death.

Respect (Aretha Franklin): I’ll be honest, I didn’t realise it wasn’t Aretha at first; but no, it was Otis Redding. Maybe you knew that. I didn’t. Not for years. But now it just is Aretha’s; a barnstorming, belting feminist anthem. Bloody marvellous.

Red Right Hand (Arctic Monkeys): maybe this is a more personal one, but one of my favourite bands covering another one of my favourite bands is a giddy thrill; and hearing the Arctics’ distorted guitars playing those Bad Seed chords, and hearing Alex Turner’s northern drawl enunciate those Nick Cave lyrics is pure joy.

Nothing Compares 2 U (Sinead O’Connor): covering Prince is a bold undertaking in and of itself, but as far as I’m concerned Sinead owns this song. A heartbreaking song of lost love and sadness, her voice is incredible, and the music video – mostly just a big close up of her singing – is extraordinary in its intimacy. Bonus points for inventing text-speak.

Walk This Way (Run DMC): I never really know if this should count as a cover as it was made with original artists Aerosmith. But, well, this version’s better, even if it also features Steve Tyler wailing the title. But Run DMC do the fast-paced lyrics better and it just sounds cooler, really.

Tainted Love (Soft Cell): I nearly didn’t include this as it’s really swimming in similar waters to Always on my Mind – taking an older song and giving it a synth-y eighties twist. But I just think it rocks, a really great interpretation of the song that’s become, I’d argue, the iconic version.

#top ten #music #covers #cover version #johnny cash

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banquet-grove · 6 years ago

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Buzzsaw on Quaaludes: Killing Joke and the Guitar Stylings of Geordie Walker

Killing Joke has had a sole guitarist since its formation in 1979; a man who never receives the credit he deserves, save from the countless musicians he has inspired and his fans. He is a guitarist's guitarist – a player whose genius you cannot fully appreciate, unless you yourself share his craft. His name is Kevin Walker; but is known to most as��‘Geordie’.

Geordie Walker performing in Finland, 2009. (Photo by Thomas Vitikainen)

There aren't very many guitarists, whom you can recognize on a track solely based on style of play. Geordie Walker is certainly one of them.

Wikipedia describes his "unorthodox style of play" as "Byrds-like chiming arpeggios of repetitive and somewhat somber melodies with a hypnotic long-sustain tone". It is one reason why his play is so instantly recognizable and fascinating, but it is not the whole story.

While experimental in his ethos – and possessing a first wave post-punk background similar to Daniel Ash, Bernard Sumner, or Billy Duffy – Geordie Walker is a different species from these three. He bookends the fiddly, reverberating, scratchy, ingenuity of post-punk instrumentation, with some of the most inventive and memorable heavy riffage in rock history.

This is something which the mainstream has completely failed to bestow due credit for, in spite of concurrently acknowledging his "influence" the scant few times it has deemed him worthy of mention. This is an injustice which Killing Joke as a collective musical unit has long struggled with – the namedropping of stars who have owned their records, taking precedence over their actual music.

Early Output

London-based Killing Joke started out as a wonky dub outfit, releasing their first EP, Turn to Red, in 1979.

While perfectly adequate, within the narrow confines of the style of music his band was then playing; Walker's work on this release was not overly remarkable. It was within the following year, as the band began to take a more aggressive sonic approach – in response to the energetic environment of live shows – that he began to break the mould.

The 1980 single ‘Wardance’; accompanied by the equally famous b-side Pssyche; is a deliciously primitive release. ‘Wardance’ is what would happen if a Neu! cover band, or some other krautrock outfit, performed in "The Upside Down" from Stranger Things. A savage caveman beat by drummer Paul Ferguson introduces a fuzz-laden funk bassline. Then, Geordie does something quite interesting:

His riff on this song is one chord; played with the "scat" rhythm which has long been an aural trademark of reggae, dub, and ska. There was nothing remarkable about this in 1980 – The Clash, as well as other British punk and post-punk acts had been there, and done that. But this particular instance of it, was played with heavy distortion on the open E string – the lowest possible chord in E standard tuning. In other words, this was less of a "scat" and more of a "thwomp".

This minor change to a rather stale trope, was simply a stroke of genius. Killing Joke has downtuned their instruments since the early 80s; and as this video of them performing the song here in the teens shows, it has made the song even more utterly monstrous as it has aged.

On these earlier releases, Geordie Walker had not yet built up his distinctive style to its classic form. The Turn to Red EP, ‘Wardance’ single, self-titled Killing Joke debut album of 1980; and follow-up, what's THIS for...! (1981); were all recorded in E standard tuning, rather than the lower D standard tuning, which has now been used by Killing Joke for about thirty-five years.

More importantly, on all of those releases; plus 1982's Revelations; Geordie is without his most recognizable trademark: his yellow-gold, hollow-bodied Gibson ES-295 guitar. He had not purchased it yet at this time, and instead used a Gibson SG.

[Edit: I've also seen a video of a television performance from this period where he has a Fender Stratocaster, but the band is miming along to a studio recording, and I see no evidence that he ever used it in the studio or during any real live performances.]

Walker's nascent sound on these first four releases was thin and wiry; it is high-pitched, sharp, and has very clear definition, in contrast to his later multilayered textures, blanketing eerie harmonics. But it still has its charm, and the work he does with it is still very recognizably Geordie. But this was Geordie Walker 1.0: a sound that he would leave in the early 80s, and never again return to.

Recently, Jaz Coleman joined the Foo Fighters onstage in Prague to perform ‘Requiem’ off of Killing Joke’s first album. Although the performance is dreadful aside from Jaz Coleman's vocals, I noticed two things: first, three guitarists combined, sounding far less impressive than Walker does on his own; but also, that this may have been the first time that Requiem had been performed in its original tuning by a member of Killing Joke since 1982.

Killing Joke (1980) was the band's debut album, featuring many songs which would later become staples in Killing Joke's live setlist. It begins with the aforementioned track Requiem; a slow, thumping, buzzing, clockwork eulogy for humanity after an apocalypse.

When performed live, to lessen the monotony of repeating the riff throughout the whole song, Geordie will often do some improvisation following the first chorus; slide up from the second fret to the fourteenth to play it during the second and third choruses; or switch from the neck pickup to the bridge pickup during the second and third verses, to back up Jaz Coleman's vocals with a more muddy, chiming tone. All of these live quirks can be seen exhibited during this performance of the song.

Also of interest on the debut album, are ‘The Wait’, a white-hot early industrial metal masterpiece, which contains what may be the grandest riff of Geordie Walker's career. S.O.36 is a rarely-performed, extremely underrated cut, for which he provides dissonant, ghostly arpeggios. I also find the riff of Primitive fascinating; because, (to me, at least) it bears some resemblance to Ron Asheton's riff on The Stooges' ‘T.V. Eye’. Walker is such an underivative guitarist, that it's intriguing when he actually gives glimpses of who his influences may be.

Walker's sound began to evolve on 1982's Revelations. I personally consider it to be a quite mediocre album, but Geordie has his moments on it. The guitar on tracks such as ‘The Hum’, and ‘The Pandys are Coming’ is bone-chilling. This album was supposedly the first on which Killing Joke downtuned their instruments – but only a half step down, instead of the full step D standard tuning which would first appear on 1983's ‘Fire Dances’.

Geordie's tone on the album is far different from the two that preceded it. The distorted, wiry, scratchy, sound of those early releases, was replaced with an airy, clean chime, with a boost to the mid-range frequencies. The result is guitar parts which have a clattering, messy smack to them – instead of a razor edged high-end hiss.

Fire Dances

The sound Walker introduced on Revelations was taken to a logical conclusion the following year, on Fire Dances (1983). The most significant development of his guitar work on this album, was the debut of his signature hollow-bodied 1952 Gibson ES-295. It was a milestone, as swapping out a solid body for a hollow one gave his sound far more resonance and presence.

"I kind of noticed that if you're using a really distorted sound, if you play complex chords, because of the harmonics in the distortion the chord will fucking disappear. I thought... if I got a semi-acoustic I could put like, a contact pickup in it and mix the acoustic sound with electric sound... and I got an old Gibson fucking catalog and I spotted it."

-- Geordie Walker in 2011 (source)

Originally released for use in big band jazz; and other forms of pre-rock 'n' roll music; in 1952, it gained notoriety as Scotty Moore's instrument of choice on Elvis's early singles. Its gold paint-job was considered outrageous at its time of release.

"To me, a hollowbody is the sound of wood making music. A solidbody is the sound of an amp."

-- Scotty Moore, 2015

Of course, in the world of distorted hard rock, and heavy metal, seeing such guitars onstage is rather a rare occurrence. It wasn't at all unheard of in the post-punk and new wave scenes (Billy Duffy comes to mind), but those players don't implement the heavy chugging, nor display other such metal influences, like Geordie does.

The first time I ever saw a video of Killing Joke performing live, I was a bit amused seeing what appeared to be an old fuddy-duddy rockabilly guitar, being used to play songs like ‘Asteroid’ or ‘Total Invasion’. I believed that the man laying down these tracks must have been a long-maned, bearded, metalhead in a t-shirt; and that the robust sound I was hearing must have been an illusion created by studio multi-tracking. I doubt that when anybody hears post-nineties Killing Joke for the first time they imagine an aloof, well-dressed gentleman nonchalantly strumming away at an Elvis guitar whilst puffing on a cigarette.

Fire Dances is Killing Joke gone psychedelic, featuring upbeat songs with vocals that alternate between childishly whimsical, and completely frantic. Geordie contributes off-kilter, dizzying melodies with a playful mood to them.

It sounds as though his bridge pickup began to see frequent use on this release, a development that would greatly expand his versatility both in-studio and onstage later in his career. A switch of pickups can be detected by the replacement of his high-end chainsaw neck pickup tone with a wet, bell-like chime. Nowadays, on many songs he will switch to his bridge pickup during verses (see: ‘Requiem’, ‘S.O.36′, ‘Primitive’, ‘Pandemonium’, ‘The Great Cull’); and on some songs he will do the opposite (see: ‘Love Like Blood’, ‘Autonomous Zone’, ‘Majestic’, ‘Hosannas’, ‘This Tribal Antidote’).

The New Wave Years

Geordie Walker's liberal usage of delay effects on Fire Dances became a staple of his sound in the commercially successful years which followed.

On 1984's Night Time, it can be argued that his sound finally progressed to vaguely what we hear today. Palm-muting and distortion made their return to his repertoire; however, instead of the icy “Geordie Walker 1.0″ sound of the first two albums, his tone maintained a resonance, density, and an imperial dignity of sorts, from Revelations and Fire Dances.

The exact combination of effects used by Walker from Night Time onward are oft-mistaken by those trying to imitate his sound. Chief among these misconceptions is that he uses a chorus pedal.

I have seen many people ask how to get their setup to sound reminiscent of Geordie Walker's on forums, and the other users will more often than not recommend chorus or stereo chorus effects. After spending countless hours fiddling around with my own guitar setup; and watching videos of Killing Joke performances, and interviews with Geordie (a very rare thing to come across); I strongly believe that he does not use – and probably hasn't ever used – chorus effects.

Delay Pedals

Instead, the resonance of his sound comes from (aside from his hollowbody guitar) clever usage of delay pedals. The users of EquipBoard, have compiled a list of some models he is seen using in various videos and photographs. They include:

The Line 6 DL4 Stompbox Delay Modeler. Spotted in a video from 2006 during the “Hosannas from the Basements of Hell” sessions.

The Electro-Harmonix Deluxe Memory Man (era not known).

The delay pedals are set up in a way which mimics chorus, but excludes some of the more "wet" elements of it. To hear the difference, listen to Killing Joke’s ‘Eighties’, followed by Nirvana's cheeky recycling of its riff in ‘Come As You Are’. On the latter, Kurt Cobain is using chorus, and the difference is quite apparent.

I also suspect that he uses a tiny amount of a phaser effect, to give his sound more ‘shimmer’; but I have no evidence to support this as of yet.

Automatic Double Trackers

Geordie also uses automatic double trackers (ADTs) to replicate the layered guitar sound on records – usually only attainable in the studio. He claims to use two at once, which is undoubtedly a paramount component in the constitution of his gargantuan sound.

The ADTs he uses are "Parmee Acoustics and Collins Electromagnetics (PA:CE) Automatic Double Trackers".

Unfortunately, it appears that the company which manufactured these is long-defunct, and as such this unit is no longer in production (as of December 2018, Ebay appears to not have a single one listed). It is described by Fletcher Stewart at Tone Report to be "perhaps one of the most elusive effect units ever made". Stewart, who was able to cop one of the devices off of the internet somehow, described its key features as "the thickest liquid stereo chorus imaginable, chewy true pitch vibrato, sine wave flanging, detuned slap back and more".

The settings on the PA:CE ADT unit Geordie makes use of, are the slapback and detuning features; which are applied sparingly.

While this specific unit may be nearly impossible to locate nowadays, an automatic double tracking effect can be created by nearly any modern delay pedal which boasts multiple outputs and a modulation feature. Modern ADT units are also available for purchase, but I cannot vouch for their aural similarity to Walker's.

Amplifiers and Heads

In the eighties, Geordie used Burman cabinets. Burman is a defunct brand, and I can find no record of it existing after that decade. As such, they may also be difficult to get your hands on.

At some point following that decade, Walker switched to a Marshall EL34 100/100 Power Amp, used with a Marshall JMP-1 Tube MIDI Preamp. Since then, he has alternated between various Marshall heads, and Framus Dragon Heads. Similarly, he has also used both Marshall and Framus speakers in conjunction with different combinations of those heads. During the Killing Joke 40th anniversary tour of 2018, he can also be seen using speakers made by Blackstar; a UK-based manufacturer founded in 2004.

The Nineties

Walker's guitar work appeared on four albums in the nineties: Killing Joke's ‘Extremities, Dirt, and Various Repressed Emotions’ (1990), ‘Pandemonium’ (1994), and ‘Democracy’ (1996); and industrial super-group Murder, Inc.'s eponymous 1992 album.

Geordie became conspicuously more influenced by hard rock and heavy metal during this period, readopting a heavily overdriven sound for the first time since 1981 for the proto-grunge Extremities, as well as Murder, Inc.; and later introducing Ministry-esque crunchy, repetitive palm-muted power chord riffs on Pandemonium. This was a turning point, as the remnants of Geordie’s new wave past were nearly completely cast into the rear-view mirror.

The musical climate of the late eighties and early nineties essentially saw the end of new wave and synthpop, as bands for whom Killing Joke's early output had been a key influence began to break into the mainstream. This, combined with the abysmal reception to Outside the Gate – an oft-forgotten and widely-panned 1988 album which Geordie’s guitar is barely even audible on – spurred the band to go loud again.

Walker experimented a lot during this period, pulling many new tricks out of his bag which would not, ultimately, carry on into the next decade and beyond. The song ‘Whiteout’ off of Pandemonium is the only Killing Joke song to feature liberal use of a wah pedal. Live performances of ‘Exorcism’, ‘Millennium’, and on occasion, ‘Whiteout’, would see Walker briefly swap his beloved ES-295 for a sunburst Gibson Les Paul Standard outfitted with white single coil pickups. This guitar was only used for these specific songs during tours in 1994 to 1996, and has not been used onstage by Geordie since.

The reason why Geordie Walker decided to bring a guitar which wasn't an ES-295 on tour with him for the first time since the early eighties is not known to me. Occam's Razor suggests he thought that the fat palm-muted tone (on the studio versions of the aforementioned tracks) would be best suited by a solid body guitar; rather than the more airy and resonant hollow body. I've never seen it discussed in any interview of his, nor did the Les Paul ever return when those songs were played on later tours. Regardless, for a brief period, it seemed Geordie didn't believe his ES-295 to be capable of providing the sound necessary for the band's heavier cuts.

It should also be noted that 1996's Democracy featured acoustic guitar overdubs on many of its tracks. Outside the Gate had also seen some sparse usage of an acoustic; but on Democracy, it is often front-and-center, especially on the title track. This was to be the last time acoustic guitar would appear on a Killing Joke album, but in a 2011 interview Walker didn't rule out the possibility of it returning for a future release.

2003 and Beyond

Killing Joke's heaviest album to date, I believe, was their 2003 self-titled release; produced by Gang of Four's Andy Gill, and featuring Dave Grohl as a guest musician on drums. Interestingly, Geordie was reportedly unhappy with how this album was mixed; which is understandable, considering the heavily-compressed loudness war production on the album, which was common in the early naughts.

His sound on the album is a beefed-up update to that which was used on the band's first self-titled album in 1980. It is ferocious, bordering on inhuman. It dominates the album, rendering the bass almost inaudible on most tracks.

‘The Death and Resurrection Show’'s palm-muted two-note riff is primitive and utterly brutal. ‘Asteroid’ sees Walker adopt drop C tuning for the first time, and the song has become Killing Joke's signature thrasher – a setlist staple which has appeared in almost every tour since 2003. Another notable Geordie moment, is ‘Blood On Your Hands’, which has an unusual, dissonant riff that sounds like a groove one would hear on an electronic track.

The 2003 release served as a template for successive new entries in the band's discography. Geordie’s style was perfected at the beginning of the new millennium, and has not seen much change since.

On 2006's Hosannas from the Basements of Hell (my personal favourite Killing Joke album), his sound is heard at its rawest. The high end on the guitar, on this album, could peel paint off walls. Listening to it makes me feel like I'm being devoured by a great machine, or being dragged on scorching hot asphalt. I've seen mutterings on the internet, that the guitar on the album's closer, ‘Gratitude’, is Geordie using a violin bow on his ES-295; but besides his expressed admiration for 60's mod rock outfit The Creation's use of the trick, I can't substantiate this.

While Geordie Walker has shown less interest in evolving his sound since 2003 than he did beforehand; the quality of his playing has been very consistent. Killing Joke's post-reunion renaissance has yielded some of their greatest songs, and Walker's outstanding riffs have been absolutely crucial to their success.

Now entering his sixties, it's a great disservice to music that he is never given his due. But most seem content with dusty old blues rockers, "iconic" hard rock axemen who are frozen in the year 1989, and the same ProTools-molded landfill bilge regurgitated ad nauseum. Geordie Walker, despite his middle age, continues to breathe life into what has become a monotonous contemporary rock & roll listening soundscape; and I hope to god that there will one day be far more unorthodox sounds out there, such as the one he has spent decades meticulously crafting.

Videos

2009 Instrumental Demos

Documentary Excerpt featuring Geordie Walker and the ES-295

Interview with Geordie Walker (2011)

Playlist of Ten Geordie Walker Instrumental Demos (2007)

#Geordie Walker #Killing Joke #Guitarists #Murder Inc.#Gibson ES-295 #Gibson #Post-Punk #Burman #Framus #ES-295

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itslikewefelltothetop · 8 years ago

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RANT/UNPOPULAR OPINION

so the vmas were tonight and i watched it to support fall out boy and a couple other artists i liked. and there were a HUGE number of issues i had with this years vmas:

firstly, WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE ROCK SO MUCH??? during the chester bennington eulogy, jared leto asked the crowd to stand up in honor of chester and anyone who was struggling with the difficulties that he was going through. AND NO ONE STOOD UP. SO JARED HAD TO ASK TWICE. THIS WAS A MEMORIAL FOR ONE OF THE BIGGEST NAMES IN ROCK AND POP-PUNK. IT WAS RUDE AND DISRESPECTFUL. ALSO, THEY PUT A FUCKING AD RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE EULOGY. THAT LEGEND DID NOT DESERVE THAT LEVEL OF DISRESPECT. IT DOESN'T MATTER WHETHER YOU LIKED LINKIN PARK OR NOT; CHESTER BENNINGTON WAS A GENIUS AND WAS A LIFE LOST TOO EARLY.

furthermore, to top it all off, they never even mentioned the Best Rock Video category. why have it if you won’t even acknowledge it?????

!! this next part is not for members of the clique that get angry easily. i love twenty one pilots too. i have a whole other blog dedicated to them. this is just my personal opinion. !!

ok, so both top and fob were nominated for Best Rock Video (top for heavydirtysoul and fob for Young & Menace), and SURPRISE, SURPRISE! twenty one pilots won. this angers me so much, it’s not even funny. here’s why:

• top is on hiatus right now. they’re not even active. no new singles, no album, no interviews, no nothing. • fob on the other hand is going on tour, releasing music, doing interviews, doing radio shows, doing promo, etc. • top didn’t even show up. neither tyler nor josh showed up. they didn’t say anything about the award at all, and [as of right now] they haven’t thanked their fans for the award. they never acknowledged it. • fob went to the vmas, hyped up the award, pete presented, they thanked their fans, they brought the llamas, they attended the red carpet, THEY BROUGHT THE LLAMAS. • top’s music video didn’t even have a meaning. it was literally just “tYjO dEfEaTeD bLuRrYfAcE!!1!!!1!” • fob’s music video spoke volumes about abuse. • heavydirtysoul (the song) came out 2015. • young & menace came out 2017.

AND NOW. THE #1 REASON I AM ANGRY THAT TOP WON INSTEAD OF FOB: top has won the same amount of awards that fob won in TWO YEARS that fob won in 16 YEARS. most of which, were won for the pure fact that most of the clique just mindlessly voted for top, regardless of whether or not they deserved it.

again, i am a huge fan of both bands, but i HIGH KEY feel that Fall Out Boy DESERVED that award (if it was not apparent in my rant).

#fall out boy #fob #patrick stump #pete wentz #joe trohman #andy hurley #young and menace #y&m #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots #tøp #tyler joseph #josh dun #vmas #mtv vmas #vmas 2017 #mtv #unpopular opinion

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jafreitag · 4 years ago

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31 Days of Dead 2020 | Project Wrap-Up & Links

I want to take the opportunity to express my thanks to all of you for following this year’s edition of the Unofficial 31 Days of Dead and for all of the messages and kind words that you have sent me. It was a fun ride and we covered a lot of ground. Here are some quick stats:

31 Days 70 Songs 26 Different years represented 8 hours, 35 minutes of music

1.16 GB of music

11 Years doing these projects

As in past years, I have provided a full track listing and zipped and uploaded all of the mp3 files so that you can download for your future listening pleasure.

WHAT WERE YOUR FAVORITE TRACKS???? I would love to hear what your favorites were this year. Some of you have reached out already and I truly appreciate it. I’m always curious what you liked and what you didn’t like so that I can make improvements in the future.

THANK YOU!! These projects are a big undertaking and there is no way I could do it all on my own. I want to take this opportunity to recognize two key people who helped out. First, a big thank you to Brian Levine who has been providing the artwork since I started doing these projects in 2010. Each year his artwork gets better. He obviously takes our tagline very seriously – “When they go high, we go higher.”

I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to my long-time friend, Jason Freitag, who hosts these projects on his blog, Liner Notes Music Blog. The blog provides an online home where you can reference these projects anytime you want. Also, if you like the 31 Days887 of Dead then you should be sure to check out “Grateful Dead Monthly” which is a fun side project that J and I collaborate on each month that features a GD show on the anniversary of that particular show. So, if you are not already following Liner Notes Music Blog, then I urge you to do so. Not only can you get your Grateful Dead fix but there are articles and playlists that cover the musical spectrum from Jazz to Indie. Link is below.

Liner Notes Music Blog: https://linernotesmusicblog.wordpress.com/

CONTACT: Please forward any requests or comments to me at [email protected].

If you are having 31 Days withdrawal then you can get your fix by following me on Instagram @31daysofdead.

Wishing you much health, peace, love and lots of music in the New Year!

2020 Track Listing

1. Technical Difficulties (4.15.70 – Winterland Arena • San Francisco, CA)

2. Help on the Way > Slipknot! > Franklin’s Tower (8.4.76 – Roosevelt Stadium • Jersey City, NJ)

3. Box of Rain (9.17.70 – Fillmore East • New York, NY)

4. New Speedway Boogie (5.1.70 – Alfred College • Alfred, NY)

5. Comes A Time (10.26.85 – Sun Dome, Univ. of South Florida • Tampa, FL)

6. Lost Sailor > Saint Jam > Saint Of Circumstance > Estimated Jam (12.11.79 – Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Hall • Kansas City, KS)

7. Eyes Of The World > The Music Never Stopped (10.15.76 – Shrine Auditorium • Los Angeles, CA)

8. He’s Gone (7.2.89 – Sullivan Stadium • Foxboro, MA)

9. Goin’ Down the Road Feeling Bad (4.28.80 – Boutwell Auditorium • Birmingham, AL)

10. Revolution (10.12.83 – Madison Square Garden • New York, NY)

11. Bird Song (9.25.80 – Warfield Theater • San Francisco, CA)

12. Turn On Your Lovelight (with Janis Joplin; 7.16.70 – Euphoria Ballroom • San Rafael, CA)

13. Foxy Lady Jam (4.21.69 – The Ark • Boston, MA)

14. Jack Straw (4.22.79 – Spartan Stadium • San Jose, CA)

15. Dear Mr. Fantasy > Hey Jude > Dear Mr. Fantasy > Truckin’ (9.7.85 – Red Rocks Amphitheatre • Morrison, CO)

16. The Weight (7.23.90 – World Music Theatre • Tinley Park, IL)

17. Band Introduction > Feel Like A Stranger (9.14.90 – Madison Square Garden • New York, NY)

18. Take A Step Back (7.12.87 – Giants Stadium • East Rutherford, NJ)

19. Band Introduction > Bertha (10.19.71 – Northrop Auditorium, Univ. of Minnesota • Minneapolis, MN)

20. Beat It On Down The Line (10.27.73 – State Fair Coliseum • Indianapolis, IN)

21. One More Saturday Night (2.17.79 – Oakland Coliseum Arena • Oakland, CA)

22. Brokedown Palace (6.21.80 – West High Auditorium • Anchorage, AK)

23. Victim or the Crime (12.31.89 – Oakland Colisum Arena • Oakland, CA)

24. Space > U.S. Blues (9.15.85 – Devore Field, Southwestern U • Chula Vista, CA)

25. (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction (9.5.82 – US Festival @ Glen Helen Regional Park • San Bernardino, CA)

26. Rockin’ Pneumonia & The Boogie Woogie Flu (9.3.72 – Folsom Field, U. of Colorado • Boulder, CO)

27. Corrina (7.9.95 – Soldier Field • Chicago, IL)

28. Drums > Scarlet Begonias > Fire on the Mountain (6.12.80 – Memorial Coliseum • Portland, OR)

29. Phil’s Earthquake Space (4.18.82 – Civic Center • Hartford, CT)

30. It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue (12.31.84 – San Francisco Civic Auditorium • San Francisco, CA)

31. Man Smart (Woman Smarter) (12.31.85 – Oakland Coliseum Arena • Oakland, CA)

32. Kansas City (10.28.85 – Fox Theatre • Atlanta, GA)

33. Stealin’ (7.17.66 – Fillmore Auditorium • San Francisco, CA)

34. Pigpen Speaks (5.2.70 – Harpur College, SUNY • Binghamton, NY)

35. I’m A King Bee (12.8.93 – Los Angeles Sports Arena • Los Angeles, CA)

36. Stage Banter > Dire Wolf (1.31.70 – The Warehouse • New Orleans, LA)

37. Black Peter (12.3.81 – Dane County Coliseum • Madison, WI)

38. Let It Grow (5.1.81 – Hampton Coliseum • Hampton, VA)

39. Morning Dew (9.11.73 – College of William & Mary • Williamsburg, VA)

40. Bill Graham Intro (2.24.74 – Winterland Arena • San Francisco, CA)

41. Dancin’ In The Streets (5.6.70 – Kresge Plaza, M.I.T. • Cambridge, MA)

42. What’s Going On? (9.24.88 – Madison Square Garden • New York, NY)

43. Wavy Gravy Chatter > China Cat Sunflower > I Know You Rider (2.9.73 – Roscoe Maples Pavilion, Stanford University • Palo Alto, CA)

44. Introduction (12.6.80 – Recreation Center • Mill Valley, CA)

45. Cassidy (12.6.80 – Recreation Center • Mill Valley, CA)

46. Bird Song (12.6.80 – Recreation Center • Mill Valley, CA)

47. Ripple (12.6.80 – Recreation Center • Mill Valley, CA)

48. It’s Weird Up Here (2.27.69 – Fillmore West • San Francisco, CA)

49. Dark Star > Kesey’s Eulogy Jam (10.31.91 – Oakland Coliseum Arena • Oakland, CA)

50. The Wheel > I Need A Miracle > Uncle John’s Band (7.4.86 – Rich Stadium • Orchard Park, NY)

51. Space With Tripping Chick & Banjo Lessons (10.17.78 – Winterland Arena • San Francisco, CA)

52. If I Had The World To Give (11.20.78 – Cleveland Music Hall • Cleveland, OH)

53. Jingle Bells Tuning (12.27.81 – Oakland Auditorium Arena • Oakland, CA

54. Hell in a Bucket > Jerry Thanks (with Clarence Clemmons; 5.27.89 – Oakland Coliseum Stadium • Oakland, CA)

55. Heaven Help The Fool (10.31.80 – Radio City Music Hall • New York, NY)

56. Sage and Spirit (10.31.80 – Radio City Music Hall • New York, NY)

57. Little Sadie (10.31.80 – Radio City Music Hall • New York, NY)

58. Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door (11.17.78 – Rambler Room, Loyola Univ. • Chicago, IL)

59. Big Boy Pete (11.17.78 – Rambler Room, Loyola Univ. • Chicago, IL)

60. Jack-A-Roe (11.17.78 – Rambler Room, Loyola Univ. • Chicago, IL)

61. Dark Hollow (11.17.78 – Rambler Room, Loyola Univ. • Chicago, IL)

62. Oh Boy (11.17.78 – Rambler Room, Loyola Univ. • Chicago, IL)

63. Oh Babe, It Ain’t No Lie (3.28.84 – Marin Veterans Memorial Auditorium • San Rafael, CA)

64. Walking The Dog (3.29.84 – Marin Veterans Memorial Auditorium • San Rafael, CA)

65. New Orleans (6.21.84 – Kingswood Music Theater • Maple, Ontario, CAN)

66. So Many Roads (10.1.94 – Boston Garden • Boston, MA)

67. Throwing Stones > Touch of Grey (10.11.83 – Madison Square Garden • New York, NY)

68. Not Fade Away (7.17.89 – Alpine Valley Music Theatre • East Troy, WI)

69. Good Lovin’ (9.2.78 – Giants Stadium • East Rutherford, NJ)

70. My Sisters and Brothers – JGB (7.23.77 – Keystone • Palo Alto, CA)

LINKS

Link for Brian Levine’s Artwork: https://imgur.com/a/m0Wl7Al

Zipped Links for MP3 Files:

Tracks 1- 13: https://www.mediafire.com/file/lpkw8v5d5ae66s9/ZIP_01-13.zip/file

Tracks 14 – 30: https://www.mediafire.com/file/9q1e32udukkyjuf/Zip_14-30.zip/file

Tracks 31 – 50: https://www.mediafire.com/file/f9gn7vxt37fmyeg/Zip_31-50.zip/file

Tracks 51 – 71: https://www.mediafire.com/file/iiaujvo8vhzij8r/Zip_51-71.zip/file

Zipped Link for PDF of Write-Ups: https://www.mediafire.com/file/c56odl2n5x3uf8u/Zip+Write-Ups+PDF+(2020).pdf/file

Zipped Link for 2020 Artwork & Videos: https://www.mediafire.com/file/rshatv1usfi3yap/Zip+Artwork+&+Videos.zip/file

MegaUpload for 2010-2019: https://mega.nz/folder/OA4REKhK#3fRUzV3G_27_zlIrscSANw

from WordPress https://ift.tt/3nUz2ch via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

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thisisheffner · 5 years ago

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The Clash's 40 greatest songs – ranked! | Music | The Guardian

A historical artefact, not for the proto-punk music, but because the lyrics epitomise the new wave’s perceived threat to the old guard. “No Elvis, Beatles or the Rolling Stones / In 1977,” sang Joe Strummer, hardly about to let his love of such pop greats get in the way of punk’s declaration of year zero.

39. White Riot (1977)

Guitarist Mick Jones now dislikes the first Clash single, its lyrics written by Strummer after the band were caught up in the 1976 Notting Hill riots and he concluded white people needed “a riot of our own”. The sentiment hasn’t aged well, but the song exemplifies the amphetamine-fuelled punk the band would leave behind.

38. What’s My Name (1977)

A Clash curio in that it’s the only one of the group’s songs to bear a writing credit for Keith Levene, the band’s original guitarist. Levene showers melodic gold dust all over this otherwise shouty punk stomper, but is better known for his work with John Lydon in Public Image Ltd.

37. Know Your Rights (1982)

From Combat Rock, the final album by the classic quartet of Strummer, Jones, bassist Paul Simonon and drummer Topper Headon. The tank was getting emptied, but Strummer’s black humour brims through lines such as “You have the right to free speech / As long as you’re not dumb enough to actually try it.”

36. I’m So Bored With the USA (1977)

This hugely anthemic track on debut album The Clash began life as I’m So Bored With You, a song about Jones’s girlfriend, before Strummer’s ad-libbed “… SA” took it in a new direction. The blistering critique of US imperialism and exported culture (“Yankee detectives are always on the TV”) didn’t stop the Clash’s love of American iconography, cars and clothes.

35. Janie Jones (1977)

Original Clash drummer Terry Chimes – uncharitably credited as Tory Crimes on The Clash – propels the debut’s storming opener, a eulogy to a 60s pop celebrity and libertine who had been jailed for vice offences in 1973. On release, the convicted madam returned Strummer’s affections in the song Letter to Joe.

34. Charlie Don’t Surf (1980)

By the epic three-disc fourth album, Sandinista!, the Clash arguably had too many ideas for their own good, but within the 36-song sprawl are undoubted treasures. Titled after a Lt Col Kilgore quip in Apocalypse Now, there’s an element of the doo-wop era to this sweet song about, well, cultural imperialism.

33. Brand New Cadillac (1979)

This bracing cover of a 1959 Vince Taylor and the Playboys track refers to the early Brit rockers’ glamorous dream car (when most of them probably had to make do with a humble Ford Anglia). From the double album London Calling, the Clash’s creative zenith.

32. The Guns of Brixton (1979)

Brixton boy Simonon wanted some songwriting cash and so penned this memorable song about police harassment and discontent in his London neighbourhood, two years before the district exploded into rioting. In 1990, Simonon received an unexpected windfall when Norman Cook (later Fatboy Slim) sampled the groove for Beats International’s hit Dub Be Good to Me.

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31. Clash City Rockers (1978)

Year zero meant many punks hurriedly buried their pasts in pub rock bands with long hair, but this 1978 single reworks a song from Strummer’s old pub rock band, the 101’ers, around trademark Clash self-mythology. The shift from aggressive guitars (surely copied from the Who’s I Can’t Explain) to something more mournful suggest musical adventure to come.

30. Rudie Can’t Fail (1979)

According to long-time Clash associate Don Letts, this London Calling gem is the fruit of a long hot summer that the Clash spent smoking herb and going to reggae clubs. It’s a horns-drenched homage to Caribbean culture, “drinking brew for breakfast” and the “chicken skin suit”.

29. Tommy Gun (1978)

A great single from the not universally adored second album, Give ’Em Enough Rope. Strummer is scathing about the idea that terrorists see their cause as glamorous, yelling: “You’ll be dead when your war is won”, while Headon’s snare drum rolls resemble gunfire. This didn’t stop the singer posing for photos in a T-shirt honouring Italian-based violent leftist organisation Brigate Rosse (the Red Brigades).

28. Police and Thieves (1977)

This cover of the Lee Scratch Perry-produced Junior Murvin hit stands out a mile on The Clash. It’s their first attempt at reggae, played punkier, with a new, Jones-penned intro. That summer, Bob Marley (working with Perry) acknowledged the burgeoning punk/Jamaican music love-in with Punky Reggae Party.

27. London’s Burning (1977)

Also from the debut album, this most captures those punk rock summers of 1976 and 1977, with its bone-crunching verse and rabble-rousing chorus. The imagery is a comprehensive list of the band and movement’s inspirations, from high-rise living above the Westway (where Jones lived with his gran) to a capital city “burning with boredom now”.

26. Somebody Got Murdered (1980)

According to Pat Gilbert’s superb book Passion Is a Fashion, the Clash were approached by producer-arranger Jack Nitzsche to provide a song for the William Friedkin movie Cruising, but he never called again. Thus, the song lit up Sandinista! with its effervescent tune and film noir-ish imagery about a random killing.

25. Career Opportunities (1977)

The limited youth employment of the 70s is timelessly skewered (“Career opportunities, the ones that never knock”) in this gem from the debut. The line “I won’t open letter bombs for you” refers to an actual job once held by Jones, checking government mail for explosive devices.

24. Pressure Drop (1979)

The B-side of the slightly hackneyed English Civil War and one of the Clash’s great covers, of Toots and the Maytals’ 1970 reggae/ska classic (as heard in the 1972 film The Harder They Come). Later, Strummer was at pains to point out that they recorded it in 1977, hence it pre-dates 2-Tone.

23. This Is England (1985)

Headon and Jones had been sacked by now (for heroin abuse and behavioural issues, respectively) as a remodelled, five-piece Clash made a sixth album. The otherwise unloved Cut the Crap did herald this final terrific single. Keyboards and guitars drive Strummer’s withering take on our national strife.

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22. Gates of the West (1979)

The Clash had been singing about the US since I’m So Bored With the USA. Based on Rusted Chrome, an early Jones composition, this stormer from the Cost of Living EP describes their New York experiences, the characters, imagery and anthemic tune all reminiscent of Bruce Springsteen.

21. Hitsville UK (1980)

From Sandinista!, this eulogy to pop is a bubblegum delight that namechecks the UK’s emerging independent labels and argues that a great “two minutes 59” single can triumph over industry sharp practice. With its Motown (the original “Hitsville”) groove and sugar-coated duet between Jones and his girlfriend, Ellen Foley, the Clash’s remaining hardcore punk fans hated it.

20. Police on My Back (1980)

Another terrific example of the Clash’s ability to cover a song (the original was by Eddy Grant’s old band, the Equals) and make it sound as if they had written it. Jones’s guitar wails like a siren, and the song has all the adrenalin rush of a police chase.

19. Lost in the Supermarket (1979)

In the tradition of the Rolling Stones’ (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction and the X-Ray Spex back catalogue, this is a great Strummer-penned/Jones-sung song about the dehumanising effects of advertising and the consumer society. (“I came in here for that special offer / A guaranteed personality.”)

18. I Fought the Law (1979)

The band reputedly heard the Bobby Fuller Four original on the studio jukebox in San Francisco while recording Give ’Em Enough Rope. Writing credits aside, this is a trademark Clash smash, full of outlaw rebel posturing and laden with Headon’s six-shooter drum cracks.

17. Death or Glory (1979)

Strummer’s ferocious blast at ageing, sellout rock stars builds to a hurtling climax on a lyrical twist as he fears a similar fate himself. Presumably it was ruled out as a single because of the infamous, hilarious line: “But I believe in this and it’s been tested by research / He who fucks nuns will later join the church.”

16. Safe European Home (1978)

Strutting around Kingston, Jamaica, in full punk regalia (in theory to stir the creative juices for Give ’Em Enough Rope) proved a rude awakening, but did produce this untypical example of Clash self-mockery. “I went to the place where every white face / Is an invitation to robbery / And sitting here in my safe European home / Don’t want to go back there again.”

15. Clampdown (1979)

Strummer’s view that capitalism was endangering people and the planet was sharpened by the Three Mile Island nuclear accident, which inspired this London Calling highlight. The Clash were exploding with musical ideas by now, and packed rock, funk and disco into this fiery, timeless anthem.

14. Garageland (1977)

The rock critic Charles Shaar Murray’s dismissal of the Clash as a “garage band” in an early live review prompted this defiant riposte, which also reflects the band’s fretting that signing to a major label would be selling out. It’s a furious but somehow melancholy anthem: “People ringing up making offers for my life / But I just wanna stay in the garage all night.”

13. The Card Cheat (1979)

Surely channeling Jones’s love of Mott the Hoople, this is the sort of thing that presumably inspired the Libertines. Horns, drum rudiments, a sublime piano hook and vivid imagery (“To the opium dens and the bar room gin ... The gambler’s face cracks into a grin”) combine in a song about a card sharp who is shot for cheating.

12. Spanish Bombs (1979)

A favourite of the late INXS singer, Michael Hutchence. The melody is glorious and Strummer’s lyrics contrast the freedom fighters of the Spanish civil war with modern tourists. The singer partly sings it in what he called “Clash Spanish”. Olé!

11. Rock the Casbah (1982)

Headon wrote and played most of the music on Combat Rock’s club/chart smash, which innovatively combines rock, funk and a slightly eastern feel. Strummer’s lyrics are inspired by Iran’s post-Islamic revolution ban on pop music, the singer’s idea being that the people would rise up and “rock the casbah”.

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10. Train in Vain (1979)

After a planned NME flexidisc fell through, this sublime Jones unrequited love song was added to London Calling too late for listing on the initial sleeves. Pete Townshend’s favourite Clash tune, this is the band at their unashamedly poppiest. Headon’s killer drum intro fires one of the rhythm section’s funkiest grooves.

9. Stay Free (1978)

Jones’s sublime, heartfelt eulogy to his old Strand school friend Robin Crocker, who became known as Robin Banks after a sting of heists landed him a stretch inside. Some fans were delighted to discover that Banks subsequently punched the song’s producer, Sandy Pearlman, who had previously worked with Blue Öyster Cult and is largely blamed for Give ’Em Enough Rope’s not exactly punky gloss.

8. The Magnificent Seven (1980)

Having rattled through punk, reggae, ska, dub and rockabilly inside five years, our boys assimilate the emerging hip-hop sounds they heard while in New York, and Strummer turns white rap pioneer. A terrific groove forms the platform for daft-but-inspired wordplay: “Italian mobster shoots a lobster.”

7. The Call Up (1980)

Following the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, as the US geared up to reintroduce the draft, the Clash spearheaded the resistance with this fantastic Sandinista! single. “It’s up to you not to heed the call up / I don’t wanna die ... I don’t wanna kill,” cries Strummer, over a magnificently eerie reggae-ish backdrop.

6. Bankrobber (1980)

So many great songs poured out of the Clash that this Mikey Dread-produced gem was almost thrown away as an import-only 45, which didn’t stop it making it No 12 in the UK charts. It’s dub music with folk storytelling – Strummer’s “daddy” wasn’t really a bank robber, but a diplomat.

5. London Calling (1979)

The Clash’s highest-charting UK single, until Combat Rock’s rather banal Should I Stay Or Should I Go reached No 1 in 1991 after being used in a Levi’s ad. Years before the climate crisis and flooding sparked public concern, Strummer fears an imminent biblical apocalypse, hence “London is drowning and I live by the river”.

4. Armagideon Time (1979)

The flip of the London Calling single, this superb reworking of Willie Williams’ social justice anthem is the definitive example of the Clash playing reggae. Strummer’s “OK, OK, don’t push us when we’re hot” is his shouted rebuff to then-manager Kosmo Vinyl, urging him to scrap the allotted three-minute length and keep the tapes rolling.

3. Complete Control (1977)

After CBS infuriated the Clash by releasing Remote Control as a single against their wishes, the band responded with their punk-era high watermark. Lee Perry produces, and Strummer’s yelled “You’re my guitar hero!” during Jones’s blistering guitar solo is one of many goosebump moments.

2. Straight to Hell (1982)

Headon’s bossa nova rhythm and a haunting hook (later sampled by MIA for 2007’s Paper Planes) power Combat Rock’s finest. The band’s unity was already fracturing, but Strummer rightly called this vengeful tirade against imperialism and American soldiers in Vietnam who left local women pregnant (“Go straight to hell, boys”) “one of our absolute masterpieces”.

1. (White Man in) Hammersmith Palais (1978)

Any of the Clash’s best songs could grace the top spot without too much argument, but this edges it. The collision of reggae (verse) and rock (chorus) epitomise what the critic Lester Bangs described as the Clash’s fusion of “black music and white noise”. Lyrically, a disappointingly lightweight reggae gig (in the Hammersmith Palais) triggers Strummer’s blistering state of the nation address, in which he considers everything from music (“Turning rebellion into money”) to racism and rising nationalism (“If Adolf Hitler flew in today, they’d send a limousine anyway”). Forty-two years on, it remains a tour de force and as relevant as ever.

Various 40th anniversary super deluxe editions of London Calling are out now on Sony.

This content was originally published here.

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